Gypsy Queen
by FelSong
Summary: Sequel to Pirate Princess. Expirate Ezranya Fyn is summoned to Athanarel, only to find herself caught up in political intrigue and the threat of war. Along the way she rediscovers family, friends and love.
1. Summons

Gypsy Queen

Disclaimer: This disclaimer is valid for this entire story. Everything but the plot and some of the characters belong to Sherwood Smith.

Chapter 1: Summons

Midsummer had just passed, and the heat that accompanied the new season bore down on the thirty acres of vineyard and on the ten men and one woman that worked the fields. Crickets fiddled in the shade of the grapevines, and cicadas played in orchestra in the trees that served as occasional wind-breakers, and shading for the big house. Finches flew in the sky above the plot of land that had been affectionately named by the family of ex-pirates that lived there, _The Port_. Or, to Ezranya Fyn, former captain of the _Valiant_, The _Last_ Port.

The crew got up before daybreak and had finally learned to make their own meals without scorching them. By the time the sun had hit the tree line, they were out among the rows of vine that curled and draped over long fences and trellises that they had spent the winter building, and the early spring of their first year setting up. They had planted the seedlings of grapevines and watched them grow and twist around the oak posts. They had traded for food and dry goods in the late summer and fall, and had barely survived their first winter as honest citizens of Remalna even with the money that each of the men had been given when they were pardoned for piracy. They never went back to ask for more. They might be broken, but they still had their pride that wouldn't let them ask for more help from _those_ people ever again.

Spring had come a second time, and the vines had come back, bearing new growth. Grapes were harvested early in the season and— for the trouble that they had caused—the vines had produced a respectable crop. They had crushed the fruit and made their first barrels that now fermented in the cool shade of the dug-out distillery next to the barn where they kept the two mules, four cows, one horse, and the chicken yard just outside.

The summer work was mostly composed of weeding and making sure that the locusts kept off the vines. When the men had the time, they split into two groups to take turns walking to the sea port, a half-day's trek away. They would stay the night at a tavern, getting drunk and reminiscing about the good old days. Ezra never went with them.

On that hot day in early summer, the small contingent of messengers arrived. The sun had just started to slip behind the trees—not that it decreased the pressure of humidity in the air. The steady pound of horses hooves came over the hill to the vineyard first, and then jingle of harnesses and reins. There were about ten men and women in all, dressed in casual military uniform. They weren't expecting a battle, and they weren't going to get one.

"We are here to find Ezranya Fyn," the woman in the lead called out.

The tall, tanned man who came to meet her first put his hand up to shade his eyes from the setting sun behind the riding. "Why? Who's it that wants her?"

"She has been summoned to Remalna-city by Their Majesties, King Vidanric and Queen Meliara. We were sent to inform her of the summons and to be her escort to the capitol."

Ezra stepped out from the house, barefoot and in thin, tattered, and re-patched breeches. She only wore a shirt, its sleeves were rolled up nearly to her elbows, and untucked. It was hot, and there was no one here that she wanted to impress, so she had taken to dressing pretty much like she had on the _Fearless_ for most of her life.

"What do they want now?" she called to the leader of the little squad that had come to collect her. "I've done my duty, and I haven't done anything so wrong that they'd need to call me back. I don't need to be reminded to mind my manners on land. So, what is it?"

The woman was startled at the impertinence of the younger female before her. She cleared her throat and looked over her shoulder to give someone a signal to come forward. The man that rode to the front was young and decked out in the same uniform as the rest. He had a helmet that covered his hair, and when he took it off the brown curls sprung up in wayward spikes. "Sheesh, Ezra, can't you ever just do what you're asked for once?"

"Costran?"

The young man grinned and dismounted. Ezra beamed at him. He certainly didn't look much like the foolish young Costran she had known a year and a half ago. He had grown up, filled out, and looked every bit the part of the soldier, but he still had the crooked, teasing grin of the man she had always regarded as a little brother.

"Nice seeing you again, Ezra," he said and held his arms open for her greeting hug. She slapped him twice on the back before she let the younger man go. "So…" he looked down at her quizzically, "are you coming to Athanarel, or not? The royals asked specifically for you, ya know!"

Ezra backed away and crossed her arms under her breasts. "I don't see why they'd need me. They probably have hundreds of captains for their ships and all of them better trained than I ever was. Besides, I can't do it again. I can't go out on the water just to be snatched back."

"Ezra," he placed a hand on her shoulder, "they're asking. Sorta. They need you, and how often do royal types admit to needin' anybody?" He paused, "Who said anything about a captaincy?"

"You mean it isn't a commission?" Ezra asked.

He shrugged. "They didn't say. But it must be mighty important since they sent us down here to getcha."

"I won't go, Costran." She shook her head.

The boy pouted. "But we rode all this way."

"And for that I'm real sorry, but I ain't goin' with ya, so you're just gonna have to turn around and ride back. No offense meant to you, mrr, um…." Ezra regarded the commanding officer. "I'm sorry, what was your name?"

"Sergeant Anora," the woman answered. "Captain, we were not—"

"I'm not a captain anymore," Ezra corrected. "Never really was, for that matter. Played at it for a bit and enjoyed every minute, but I wasn't really in charge. I know that, now. So you people ride on home and tell Their Majesties that I'm done with that part of my life. I'd appreciate it if they respected that."

Costran blew out a noisy sigh and turned back to the Sergeant Anora. He shrugged, unable to do one damned thing once Ezra had made up her mind and remounted his horse. The Sergeant looked stony and displeased.

Ezra cleared her throat and did what she could to make amends. "Again, I'm real sorry you came all this way for nothing. I'd offer you some food but I'm afraid we don't have enough to spare for so many people. Same goes for the wine. Anyway, it's still grape juice at the moment. I'm sorry, Sergeant."

"Don't worry about us, Mistress Fyn," she told Ezra. "There was a town a ways back; my men should be more than comfortable there. I just worry about what will happen when the King and Queen hear that you aren't coming."

"Oh, I think they'll find a way to forgive me," Ezra answered. She had never bent to threats as a pirate, and they still made her angry now.

Sergeant Anora called a quick order to her men, and they turned and rushed back down the road that had just come in on. Costran looked back over his shoulder once to wave, and then they were over the hill and out of sight. The man who had first spoken with the Sergeant came to Ezra's side as she watched the dust settle.

"Why didn't you go with them, girl?"

"Like I told Costran, Jirair, I don't think I could handle being out on the ocean again, just to know that after this mission I couldn't go back."

"And what'd be stoppin' ya?"

Ezra sighed and turned away without answering. Fyn was still alive and well. He was stronger now than he had been when they had left the Palace in Remalna-city and life on the vineyard had agreed with him, even through the first bad winter. Ezra had made her decision to stay with her grandfather until the end and she would do just that.

When Captain Fyn heard about what had happened that night over dinner in the long dining room that they had built into the farmhouse to accommodate everyone who had come along with the Captain to his vineyard, the old man added his say. "Are yer crazy, girl?"

The other men at the table tried to concentrate on their food.

"Grandpa, we've had this discussion before and I'm not about to have it again."

"Oh, is that it?" Fyn asked. "Is that why you _still_ refuse to leave this place, even to have some fun in town for a few days? Because of _me_? My dear, that excuse is getting as old as this sack o'bones."

"It's not an excuse!" Ezra shouted. When she heard her own voice, she toned it down. He didn't deserve to have her yelling at him. "I just don't want to go away and leave you for a long time. Who knows if you'll still be here when I get back?"

"Ezranya, I don't know if you have noticed, but I am in remarkably good health for someone my age," Fyn pointed out. "And if something did happen to me while you were away, I certainly wouldn't be bereft. There are ten other people here besides you!"

"That isn't the point, Grandpa!"

"Then what is?!" Fyn checked himself. He wasn't going to get through to her by shouting. "Darlin', don't take this the wrong way, but I think you're scared."

Ezra sat up straighter in her chair and glared down the table at her grandpa. "I am not scared."

"Yes you are," Fyn insisted. "Ya scared that you'll go away and not have a home to come back to. Ya scared that I'll be gone and you won't have any family left. Ya scared that you'll want to stay on a ship so badly that ya won't want to come home at all. Ezra, my girl, ya scared. There ain't no shame in that, and no point in lyin' about it, either. What's that old Gypsy saying your grandmother used to tell me? 'To lie is an act of cowardice, and the Roma aren't cowards. If they were, they would not be the players they are.' Was that it? It was something like that, anyway, and you are still part Gypsy, so that applies to you, too. You're no coward…so don't go about acting like one."

Ezra had looked away from her grandfather at the beginning of his speech. He was right, storm it. She was afraid. By the time Fyn had gotten through, Ezra couldn't lift her eyes from her plate. For long minutes, the only sound in the room was of the other men scraping the last bites of beans, eggs and wild hare off of their dishes, and cups of water being lightly _thunked_ back onto the wooden table.

Ezra scrapped her chair back and picked up her plate. "I'm not hungry anymore." She took her plate to the door and scraped the last of the food outside to decompose, or to be eaten up by scavengers. After she dropped it into the bucket of water that awaited the person whose turn it was to do the dishwashing that night, Ezra headed to her room at the back of the house. As the only female, she got her own room. "Good night."

Once inside, with the door closed, Ezra headed toward the one small window in the far wall. It was just big enough for her to fit through, and it opened from both the inside and outside. She had found this by accident, but employed the knowledge often when she needed to be away from her family and think. She slipped through the box and padded, still barefoot, across the yard, down the last row of vines on the port side—west side, that was—and finally up a tall tree that Ezra could almost imagine as being a mast in another life. She liked to go up there when it was dark and quiet, and she imagined that she could just catch a whiff of the salt air off the ocean. Just a day's walk away…

There was a little crook in the tree where one of the lower branches met the trunk. It created the perfect perch for Ezra to sit and lean back. She stayed there for a long time that night with thoughts circling back upon themselves. By the time she had gotten so tired that she was about to fall out of the tree, Ezra had still made no decision. She wanted to go, but she wasn't sure that she could let herself.

The subject was dropped. Everyone at _The Port_ went on as if nothing had ever happened: no riding of royal messengers, no offer from the monarchs, no argument, and no choices to be made. Life was simple and it stayed simple for another month.

Late summer was worse than midsummer for heat and insects. The pleasant chorus of cicadas had become a ceaseless drone, and something was eating all the leaves off the grapevines. When the sun went down it wasn't much better. Humidity lingered in the air and the mosquitoes came out.

Supper had just been placed on the long table in the dining room when the knock came at the door. Ezra was the closest, so she went to see who it was way out here. The door opened to show a middle-aged man in a simple livery of some noble house or other. He seemed friendly enough, smiling when he saw who was before him.

"And would you be Ezranya Fyn?"

"Yes?" she answered. "What do _you_ want?"

"I was sent by the Marquise of Merindar to invite you to dine with her and her family at the Little Flower Inn."

"The Marquise…Oh!" The face suddenly matched up with the title. The Marquise Elestra was the Prince's sister. Nice woman, very friendly. "What's she doing way out here?"

"Their Graces were attending a conference in the city of Dyngab. The Marquise had one of her plays showing there. Now they are traveling north to Remalna-city to stay at the palace for a few weeks before continuing on home."

"Oh. That's nice. So, why does she want to see me?"

The messenger shrugged. "I wasn't told a reason but if I know my lady, she probably remembered that you were here and wanted to say hello."

Ezra bit her lower lip in thought. She could feel the men staring at her back, willing her to go. She didn't see much point in staying here for dinner, not if they were all going to glower at her all night, so she nodded. "Alright, just let me go saddle up Peaches and I'll be right with you."

The messenger smiled wider and nodded. "I'll await you by the road." He gave her a bow and went back to his horse.

"Thank goodness for that!" Fyn called from behind her. "You need a night away from this place. I don't want to see your face before noon tomorrow, do you hear me, Ezra?"

She sighed, and rolled her eyes. "Yes, Grandpa. Have a nice night."

"You, too."

The men added their sentiments, and Ezra went to get their one horse ready for a ride into town. Peaches was a cantankerous old animal who had been misused sometime in the past. She was a pretty animal, but as mean as they come and it had taken a long time for Ezra to earn the horse's respect - and an even longer while before she had let anyone ride her without giving them a blistered bum. Only she and two other men on the vineyard could ride Peaches while a select few could come near her stall without her kicking up a fuss. Whether it was the Roma skill with horses, or just coincidence, the three who could ride Peaches were all part Gypsy.

"Easy, girl," Ezra crooned to the horse as she made her way into the stall. "You and me are going on a little trip. It won't be for long, and we'll be back before you know it."

Peaches snorted and stamped, but she let Ezra put the worn saddle and bridle on her. Ezra led the horse out of the barn and down to the road. She had a little trouble with Peaches and the messenger's horse, but Ezra kept her animal mostly under control.

"Peaches! Mind your manners!"

"Oh, it's fine," the messenger said. "I've seen worse. I've _ridden_ worse. We'll be all right."

And once they were off, Peaches calmed down. She was always calmer when she was going somewhere. In less than a candle, they were at the Little Flower Inn, and the messenger offered to take Ezra's horse into the stables with his own so that she could go on in to join the Marquis and Marquise for dinner. She thanked him and told Peaches that if she misbehaved Ezra would sell her to the tanner and use the money to buy a different horse before she left town in the morning. Peaches _hrmphed_ at her, but at least they had an understanding.

The inn was one of the best places in town. It had white-washed walls, and flowers planted in boxes under the windows. Inside the heavy front door of bluewood, the main room was richly furnished with carpeted floors. There were even spokes on the walls for where the wool tapestries would be hung to keep out the winter cold. They were a little useless now, but they would eventually need the warmth to combat the snows that would fall outside the door.

The scent of soup cooking over a fire wafted out from the kitchen made Ezra's stomach tighten, and she turned her face toward where the aroma was coming from. She closed her eyes for a moment to savor the smell of meat and vegetables. When she opened her eyes again, one of the inn workers was in front of her. He was short and dumpy, but his face was kind and he wore a smile of welcome.

"Is there something I can help you with, Mistress?"

"Oh!" Ezra started and pulled off her hat, finally realizing how very rude she must seem. "Yes. I'm looking for the Marquis and Marquise of Merindar. They sent word that they wanted to see me…" She knew how strange this must sound to the man. Why would such lofty nobles want to see a common girl who wore dirty, patched breeches?

"Are you Ezranya Fyn, then?" the man asked.

"I…yes, I am," Ezra answered.

"Their Graces said they were expecting you." He nodded. "Their rooms are just up those stairs," he pointed, "and down to the right. Have a good evening, Mistress Fyn."

"Thank you," she said. _The_ _Merindars must be paying an awful lot for their stay,_ Ezra thought, _for_ _the help to be so kind to commoners._

The stairs didn't even creak as she climbed—a true sign of the prosperity of the inn and the clientele it usually serviced. At the top, Ezra turned to the right and headed down a short hallway and toward the rooms at the end. The closer she got, the more she could hear the noise of a small child refusing to eat his vegetables, and his mother doing her best to coax him. Ezra paused outside of the tapestry she heard the voices coming from behind, bit her bottom lip and then thrust ahead, rapping on the tapestry's wooden frame.

"Come in," a masculine voice called out.

Ezra pushed aside the tapestry and stepped into the brightly lit room. The Marquise sat behind the table in the center of the room, her son beside her. Although Ezra had only seen the boy once, she was still surprised to see how much he had changed in two years. Very little 'baby' was left in him, and his bright red curls were now almost shoulder-length. He was straining away from his mother, who stoutly refused to let the little boy best her.

The Marquis sat beside his wife with one knee drawn up, an amused expression on his face as he watched the unfolding scene. On his other leg perched a little girl, a handkerchief tucked into the collar of her dress to keep it clean while she tried her hand at the solid food her father offered her. She had thick golden blonde hair which complimented a beautiful peaches and cream complexion, and clear honey brown eyes. She was going to break hearts one day, but at the moment she had drool running down her chin, and what looked like a piece of chicken in her mouth.

The adults looked up when Ezra cleared her throat, gaining their attention. The Marquise smiled up at her, and her husband at least looked interested in the fact that she had arrived safely. The boy looked up to see what had caused his mother to leave off with trying to force him to eat a carrot.

"Ezranya!" Elestra greeted her, rising to her feet. "How good to see you again! I'm glad you got our invitation and decided to come."

"Glad to get the invitation," Ezra said in return. When she took in the entire shape of the woman heading toward her, Ezra noted the belly starting to form under the thin summer gown. _These two sure do keep busy, I'll give them that! _She added a deep nod to the Princess and then directed a second to the Marquis, who smiled slightly. "Besides," she added, "there wasn't much else to do at home."

"Good to note where we are positioned on your itinerary of important appointments," the Marquis observed wryly.

Ezra gave him a small smirk. She could not for the life of her, figure out if she liked him or not. He was intimidating. Not physically—he couldn't take her in a fair fight, for instance—but he always seemed to radiate a feeling of hidden wit and intelligence, not to mention his astonishing good looks, which set her on edge. The Marquis was what her friend Caelron dreamed of being, and possibly imagined he was.

Elestra shot her husband a look, one eyebrow raised. "Trade me children, dear. You try and make Keneric eat, and I'll take Elaina for a while." Then, the Marquise led Ezra to the table and encouraged her to take what she'd like. The children were exchanged while Ezra took up a plate and piled slices of chicken, roast carrots, potatoes, artichokes, fluffy biscuits, and some kind of apple and pear mixture on it. She poured herself a tall tankard of watered wine from the jug that sat on the table. Ezra hadn't had fare this good since she was at the Palace.

"So, Ezra," Elestra began the conversation, "I read in a letter from my mother that you were being offered a position in the navy. Congratulations. Oh! I haven't spoiled the surprise, have I?"

Ezra suddenly lost her appetite. She cleared her throat and used a napkin to wipe her mouth. "No. I already got the offer. I turned it down."

Both nobles eyed her curiously. "But, why?" Elestra asked, a frown of consternation marring her brow.

Ezra really hated having to justify her reasoning to every living person. "Because I promised my grandfather that I'd stay with him until he didn't need me any longer. He's still alive, and the vineyard needs all the help it can get." It sounded weak to every single person in the room.

"Forgive me if I'm mistaken," the Marquis spoke up, "but weren't there several other men that accompanied you and your grandfather to the vineyard at the end of your stay at Athanarel when we last saw you? I could've sworn I saw ten or twelve men with you when you left."

Ezra pulled in a deep breath. "There were. There are."

"And so it would seem that your grandfather has quite a bit of help."

"Flauvic," his wife warned quietly. "We can hardly force Ezra to do something. If she feels that she needs to stay with her grandfather, then she'd best stay."

As much as she hated having to justify herself, she hated having someone else do it for her. Her reasoning sounded so hollow and ridiculous—and worse, cowardly—when it came from someone else's mouth. But she couldn't quite make herself agree to go.

"So it appears Alaraec was correct," Flauvic said softly, keeping a hold of his son, who was trying to leave the table.

Ezra's gaze found itself locked on the Marquis's handsome face, but it was the features of another blond male that drifted through her mind. "What do you mean? What did he say?"

"_Flauvic_," Elestra said again, with more force this time.

He held up a hand to his wife, indicating that he meant no harm. To Ezra he replied, "Alaraec only said that it was unlikely that you would come to the Palace. He gave no reason, nor did he seem to care one way or the other. But, as it appears, his hypothesis was correct."

Ezra's lips pursed and she found that she could eat a whole cow. She stabbed her fork into a bite of chicken, and speared some vegetables under the meat. After she had chewed and swallowed, she returned her attention to the nobles. "Thinks I won't come….Well, let's just see about that."

Flauvic deliberately turned his face towards his wife and out of Ezra's sight before allowing his lips to curl up in a smile of the victorious.

&&&

A/N: 8 months and the wait is finally over! Thanks to all our readers for your patience. The schedule is pretty much the same. An update every fortnight. No sooner, no later unless something crops up (i.e. Exams, tests, work, holidays overseas, etc.).

We've really put in a lot of effort into the planning and executing of this sequel, and enjoyed every bit of it so far. We hope you all relish reading it as much as we did writing it. We may be off to a slow start but I assure you, things start heating up in the third chapter or so.

Now, you know what to do in repayment for us slogging our guts out, right? Take a minute (or more) to review.

Please log-in before reviewing so that I can reply to your comments/critiques ASAP. If you wish to remain anonymous but want a reply from me, leave an email address. Otherwise, it's fine.)

P.S I'll no longer be replying on the post itself.

FS&EG


	2. Departure

Gypsy Queen

Chapter 2: Departure

"What did you do that for?" asked Elestra as she sat by the vanity brushing her rich chocolate hair, watching her husband through the mirror's reflection.

"Do what?" queried Flauvic.

"Bait her like that." She set her hairbrush down and rose to her feet, a hand pressed to the small of her back.

Night had fallen and the young noble couple was completing their nightly ablutions before heading for bed.

"You know Ezra can't resist a challenge, especially when it involves Alec." Elestra waggled a finger at her husband with a frown.

Flauvic caught her about the widening waist and hugged her close. "What makes you think he didn't put me up to this?" he murmured into the waves of her hair.

"He wouldn't!" she exclaimed indignantly. "Alec would do no such thing. Besides, he probably said that to you in confidence." Raising her head from his chest, she looked up at him with pursed lips.

"No, he wouldn't," admitted Flauvic with a careless shrug. "Besides, he was answering a hypothetical question at the time, and that wasn't a confidential conversation since Nadav was present."

"Now who's the childish one? Hm?" rebutted Elestra, recalling the first few years of their re-acquaintance, when the very man who had fled Remalna after holding her hostage, returned to face the wrath of justice. The same man she had married.

"Wait a second, are you picking a fight with me over a long distance love affair that is none of our concern?"

"Long distance love affair? As far as I can tell, Ezra is not exactly crazy about Alec. She puts him down, gets him riled up and, in this case, wants to prove him wrong."

"What about her goodbye kiss three years ago? The entire court was going on about that for weeks!" Elestra opened her mouth to protest that the kiss was just an impulsive reflex to throw Alec of his guard, but was silenced by Flauvic's upraised hand. "Honestly, I don't give a damn if they have feelings about each other or not. But it is imperative that she joins our navy. You were there when Vidanric mentioned that Norsunder has become a greater threat than before - we need all the help we can get. Don't forget, she is one of the few who know where Norsunder lies."

Flauvic saw his wife's head droop wearily with the reminder of the imminent threat. Holding her chin between forefinger and thumb, he lifted her face to his serious countenance. "We need her expertise as a pirate, and if I had to cheat and lie to get her to accept that commission, I would."

Trying for lightness Elestra replied, tracing the white scar on his face with a finger. "Thinking of reverting back to your evil, conniving ways are you?"

"Always," came her answer, "but that won't happen with you keeping me busy." She felt a brush of lips against her temple

She laughed, matters of state momentarily forgotten. "Aren't you the one keeping me busy? With baby after baby in my belly no less!"

Recalling Alec's comment on his presumed laziness and his own acerbic reply in the library what seemed ages ago, Flauvic said with a grin, "You can't possibly expect _me_ to do all the work!" before proceeding to silence his quarrelsome wife with a hearty kiss.

&&&

"You're really going?" Fyn checked.

"Yes, Grandpa, I really am," she assured him. "The Marquis and Marquise of Merindar invited me, and the royals did send for me, after all. I can go and see what they want, at least."

"What changed your mind?"

Ezra ceased her packing and frowned at the wall next to her bed. How dare the Prince assume that he knew what she would do in any given situation? He hadn't seen her in over a year, and now he was trying to predict her actions. Well, she would take pleasure in proving him wrong. She shoved another shirt into her satchel and went for her stockings.

"I guess I just finally understood what you've all been saying," she responded to her grandfather's question. "It's time I got away from the Port for a bit."

"Hogwash," Fyn muttered.

Ezra shrugged. "Believe what you want."

Fyn huffed and turned around to leave. "Just one thing, princess. Don't go there looking for a fight. If you only want to test your sword against the Prince's again, you'd best think of a better way to be doin' it than goin' to his territory and stirrin' up a fuss."

Ezra sighed, her movements slowing to a stop. "Grandpa, I'm not goin' just to pick a fight. Yes, making Rider eat his words is part of the reason, but I won't care a bit if I don't see him the entire time I'm at the palace."

"You don't care if you don't see him at all?"

"Not a bit."

"Then why are you still callin' him 'Rider'?"

She snorted and spun to make a face at her grandfather's exiting back. With a scowl, she turned back to her packing. The Marquise said that she and her family were leaving in the morning. After Ezra had made up her mind to go to the palace with the Merindars, Ezra told them that she needed to pack and tell Fyn and the others of her plan to go. They had arranged to meet by first gold at the juncture where the road split left to the vineyard and right to the town.

Ezra folded the last of her breeches into the burlap bag and tied the top closed so nothing would fall out. She added her hair brush, tooth stick, and a few bandanas to a second, smaller bag. After that was done, she was finished for the night.

Ezra sighed and sat down on her mattress. She missed the gentle swing of a hammock. Some nights she would wrap her blankets around her because it felt more like the bedding she'd been used to nearly her whole life, and then she would imagine the feel of the waves around her. Tonight she would need the calm that the memory of waves would bring in order to sleep. Her stomach was knotting in her gut in anticipation for the next morning.

Outside her room, she could hear the men talking as they prepared to turn in for the night. Ezra heard her name a few times, and knew that they were all talking about her sudden decision to go to the palace. A few were surely talking about her days on the _Valiant_ with her constant arguments with Prince Alaraec. And then there was the ridiculous scene where she had kissed him when they were leaving Athanarel for the vineyard. Nearly two years later, and Ezra had yet to live that one down.

With a last glare aimed through her closed door and to the gossiping men beyond, Ezra pulled off her boots, shucked her breeches, and removed her front-laced bodice before she scooted beneath the covers. Despite her best efforts, Ezra barely slept that night for writhing in nervousness about her upcoming journey to the royal palace.

&&&

"Don't go embarrassing me, Peaches," Ezra warned the persnickety nag. "We'll be traveling with royal breeds, and you had better be on your best behavior."

Peaches wuffled, ears pricking forward.

"Don't give me that noise," Ezra warned. "You know you're temperamental. I just don't want you to make a nuisance of yourself. Or making me look bad in front of a friend! Elestra is royalty, I like her, and I don't want her thinking bad of me."

Snort!

"Just behave yourself." Ezra threw the bags over Peaches' saddle, and then led the horse out of the barn. Fyn was waiting by the front door of the house.

"You all set, princess?"

"Yes, Grandpa. You all going to be all right here without me?"

"Ezra, we've been looking after you for most of your life; you don't need to be looking to us." He came forward and enveloped her in a hug, breathing in the scent of her hair before releasing her and cupping her face in both hands. Looking her squarely in the eyes he said, "Don't you go forgettin' us either."

"I won't," she promised as he kissed her forehead, his stubbled chin grazing the bridge of her nose. She wrinkled the said appendage at the ticklish sensation.

He then released her and sent her on her way with an "Off you go!"

Ezra smiled widely at her grandfather and adopted uncles, hiding the apprehension that had knotted her gut so badly she could scarcely keep down the bowl of gruel she had for breakfast. With a click of her tongue, Peaches set off at a slow trot down the dusty path. Ezra turned in the saddle to wave goodbye before riding onward with her back straight and her head held high.

"There goes our princess, fellas," chimed Elaitus.

"Nah. There goes a Queen," corrected Fyn.

Duft chortled, "Since the queen bee's gone, can this worker bee go take a pee? I'm full ta burstin'!"

&&&

"I think I see her!" exclaimed Elestra, shading her eyes in the growing glare of the rising sun. "Is that her?"

"Stop jumping up and down," chided her husband calmly as he straightened his embroidered waistcoat and flicked a speck of dust off his long overcoat, "You don't want to go into premature labor do you?" He squinted at the approaching rider in the distance and said, "Yes, that's her."

Elestra scoffed in a most un-lady-like fashion. "Premature labor indeed! If my previous births were anything to go by, our babies stayed stuck in my belly far longer than they should have."

"Perhaps you should try sneezing during your next birthing or holding your breath. I heard the air pressure forces the baby out," replied Flauvic with his characteristic smirk. However, the gleam in his eyes belied the humor in his words.

Elestra slapped him on the arm in mock anger just as Ezra and Peaches came to a halt before them. "Sorry I'm late," she said while dismounting.

"Oh, you're right on time. We were just making the final preparations," replied Elestra with a smile as Flauvic sketched a bow at the new arrival.

Ezra blushed, suddenly and inexplicably flustered by the aristocrat's gesture of greeting. The Marquis caught her look and grinned. "You'd better get used to bows and curtsies as soon as possible. Though I have to admit you might prove to be an exotic novelty who's entitled to break all the rules – Meliara certainly did."

The Marquis shared a look with his wife that Ezra could not comprehend. She shrugged and returned, "Well, you certainly don't have to go to the trouble of niceties with me. A handshake will do." She stuck out her hand.

For a moment it seemed as if the Marquis was about to shake her hand. However, at the last instant he turned her hand subtly and brushed her knuckles with his lips. Now, Ezra flushed scarlet. Flauvic released her hand and she let it fall limply to her side with an embarrassed laugh, "Let me guess, they do that too, huh?"

Elestra interrupted before her husband could embarrass Ezra any further. "Ignore him. He used to flirt behind my back now he does it right before my very eyes!" She took a quick look around, then said, "It seems like we're ready to go. Ezra, would you like to ride with me and the children in the carriage? Flauvic's riding and you'll see to her horse won't you, my dear?" she sent a cloyingly sweet smile her husband's way.

"Certainly," said the Marquis with a wry smile, eyes twinkling with understanding.

&&&

The carriage they rode in was well-sprung, bouncing over paved, cobbled or potholed roads with nary a bruise to its riders. Ezra sat beside the children's nanny Renayr and across from Elestra who had Elaina in her lap and Keneric beside her.

Though the nanny probably thought Ezra did not notice, the ex-pirate was silently amused by Renayr's constant fidgeting and obvious discomfort at her presence. The only time Ezra had caught the girl looking her way it was with wide, fearful eyes. That said, the tension must have been palpable for Elestra commanded the girl's attention by instructing that she change seats with Keneric and care for Elaina.

With Renayr absorbed in her task, Elestra smiled apologetically at Ezra and proceeded to engage her in easy conversation - asking after her grandfather, enquiring about the daily running of the vineyard, as well as what she intended to do upon arriving at Athanarel.

Ezra responded as best as she was able enjoying the Marquise's quick turn of mind and natural business acumen when they discussed amongst other things--the wine industry and the recent spate of attacks along the borders.

"I'm sorry!" exclaimed Elestra with a fluting laugh. "Have I bored you to death? Flauvic believes I barrel on and on when I talk politics and economy."

"Oh no! Not at all. It is all very … enlightening. I've never seen it that way, how everything links up and affects one another."

"You mean the bigger picture. It's easy to see _why _they affect one another, but what we want to know is _how _they affect one another. Politics and the economy are inextricably linked to one another, and they directly affect the common folk, for between them they encompass the military sector, financial markets, and social hierarchy." Catching Ezra's wrinkled brow, she grinned unrepentantly, "It's complicated."

"I guess that's why you're a diplomat and I'm not." Ezra leaned back into her cushioned seat.

"I'm also a budding playwright," added Elestra. Ezra noted a faint blush creeping up the woman's cheeks at the admission. "It's a hobby I picked up soon after becoming a diplomat and ambassador for Remalna. My travels have provided me with quite a bit of inspiration, and I jot it down from time to time. When I have spare time, that is."

"I wish I had a hobby," murmured Ezra wistfully, jamming her elbow against the carriage window and propping her head atop her fist. "Being on board a ship leaves one with little in the way of entertainment. We tend to tell stories or sing songs, activities that require little movement. On special occasions we have sword dances."

"Oh, I've heard of those!" exclaimed Elestra, pulling out some parchment, ink, and a quill from the bag by her feet. While fitting the bottle of ink into a specially designed wooden holder that flipped down from the middle of the seat's backrest, she said, "I thought sword dances were unique only to the gypsies, you mean pirates perform it too?" Thus saying, she slipped out a wooden board from beneath her seat, fastened a latch beneath it and set the parchment on it as Ezra watched in utter amazement. Then, unscrewing the lid off the bottle of ink she dipped her quill, tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear and stared at Ezra expectantly. "You were saying?"

"Uh… what are you doing?" Ezra caught what could pass as a smirk from Renayr from the corner of her eye.

"You were mentioning sword dancing?" It took a moment for Elestra to register Ezra's bewildered expression. "Ah… I had the carriage custom fitted with these so that I could write while traveling." She laughed self-consciously, "It's the eccentric aristocrat in me."

Clearing her throat and trying very hard not to laugh at the pregnant Marquise whose bulging belly hindered the proper assembly of her makeshift table, Ezra said, "You're right in saying that sword dancing has it's origins from the gypsies that roam the lands. However, it has evolved over time from a purely artistic expression to a style of fighting. The gypsies, you have to understand, are generally a peace-loving people; but after centuries of discrimination by the general populace, many of these traveling bands of gypsies turned to their sea-faring brothers for protection…"

"Would these be the pirates?" interrupted Elestra, looking up briefly from her writing.

"Yes," replied Ezra with a nod. "The pirates modified the sword dance for their own purposes; first as a way to help improve their footwork, then their leaps and jumps for aerial attacks, and finally their whirling technique to confuse the prey."

"Have you performed the sword dance?" asked Elestra.

"Yes, of course. Those of gypsy descent learn it in its most original form - scarf swirling as we call it, as children with silk scarves and tiny bells. My mother taught me the classical sword dance she learned from her mother only when I was old enough to wield a sharp object properly. The original sword dancing technique which involved using metal foils with colorful scarves attached to them instead of real swords. The warrior's sword dance started to take form only when the pirates came into the picture. That one's the most aggressive of the three dances and the most dangerous."

"Dang'rus," repeated Keneric as he attempted to crawl into Ezra's lap. Her instinctive reaction was to push the toddler back into his seat, but one did not do that to a future Marquis and member of the royal house, especially when his Marquise mother was present.

"I never knew that sword dancing had such a long history," breathed Elestra in wonder. It was Ezra's turn to grin. "Would you perform it for us some time?"

Ezra's grin faded in a flash. "I'm not that good, really." She grimaced when Keneric plopped his behind onto her lap and laid his curly haired head against her shoulder.

"Don't be modest, Ezra. If I understood you clearly, I gather you can perform all three forms of the dance!"

"Dance, dance!" cried Keneric as he clapped his hands in glee. He squirmed and twisted in her lap until he had his nose pressed against the window on her side of the carriage.

"Well, I can. But not well." Ezra knew that there was no way she could wheedle her way out of this. Apparently, so did Renayr because she was hiding a smile by staring at the floor of the carriage.

"The important thing is that you can! You don't expect me to beg do you? I might not be able to get off my knees without assistance, you know," said Elestra warningly. "Please Ezra, and in return I'll teach you the court dances _and_ show you around Athanarel-city."

Seeing no other way out Ezra relented, "Oh, all right. It's a deal."

Elestra smiled triumphantly, her face aglow with anticipation. "Now, tell me about the whole pirating business…"

&&&

They arrived at their first stop as the last rays of the sun dyed the sky a swirl of pink, purple, and blue. King's Crown was a bustling inn that was obviously well patronized by the wealthy. Unlike the usual inns or taverns, its floors were beautifully tiled or carpeted, rich tapestries hung from its walls and miniature chandeliers hung from its ceilings. Nestled in the middle of a busy merchant town, Ezra was surprised to find the common room relatively empty.

"We made reservations," said a soft voice by her ear. She started in surprise and turned her head to find the Marquis standing just behind her, his sleeping daughter cradled in his arms. "Could you take her for a moment? I have to assist my wife in her disembarkation from the carriage." He jerked his head in the direction of the carriage she had just vacated.

"Certainly," replied Ezra, wondering for the umpteenth time since Keneric had made himself comfortable in her lap if she was being roped in to act as a temporary nanny.

Elestra moved carefully towards the lowered steps of the carriage, extending a hand that her husband clasped with his own, his other hand slipping around her waist to steady her. When her feet touched firm ground he pulled her against his lean torso and kissed the crown of her head. "So, did you get what you need?" he whispered just loudly enough for her to hear.

"I believe so," she replied mysteriously, tilting up a smiling face lighted with unhidden joy towards his.

"You're brilliant, just brilliant. Do you know that?" asked Flauvic as he guided his wife towards the inn's main entrance.

"Of course, since you never fail to remind me," replied Elestra with a knowing smile for this was a long-standing joke between them.

Sure enough, her husband mused out loud, "Some of my genius must have rubbed off you!"

"Enough of your self-flattery," she chided, "We have a guest." Thus saying, she pecked him lightly on the cheek, directed Renayr to get Keneric settled in a room and bustled after Ezra, who was disappearing into the common room.

&&&

A/N: Here is chapter 2 a week late! EG and I had our final exams this week and it slipped my mind. In any case, we're behind schedule with chapter 6 and I'm going to Korea for about 2 weeks. That means that chapter 3 will also be late.

However, don't despair! I'll be posting a one-shot (which, hopefully, would grow into a novel-length spin-off of GQ) from Kitty's AKA. Ranisia Astiar – Bran and Nee's daughter's point of view. It'll be up before I leave for Korea on the 10th of December.

I hope that these 2 peace offering are sufficient to appease your anger at the delay of this chapter's posting, and that they would serve as early Christmas presents. Enjoy!


	3. Reviews

Gypsy Queen

Chapter 3: Reviews

His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Alaraec Rensalaeus removed the wide brimmed blue hat off his head and ran his handkerchief over his damp forehead. The early summer heat was already pressing down on him one candle after dawn. In his third month of militia reviews on the Remalnan boarder, Alec was tired and ready to tell the commanding officers that if they were attacked now, not only would the village they were stationed in be burned to the ground, but at the rate of response these men and women were showing, the surrounding countryside would be taken before their protectors even realized the armed raiders were a threat.

Alec killed the self-deprecating laugh that rose to his throat. A few months on a pirate ship more than a year ago had severely dented his sense of decorum.

"What has you so jovial this early in the morning?" General Mishalle asked.

The Prince cleared his throat as another clumsy drill was performed by the fifty-seven men and thirty-five women who showed up for the yearly militia review. He glanced to his right at the retired field soldier mounted on the huge blood bay beside him. General Mishalle had been his mentor and commanding officer after Alec graduated from Marloven-Hess Military Academy and returned home. Hamrinn Mishalle was one of Alec's closest confidants outside of his family, and he could easily spot a change in mood on the Prince's normally stoic face.

"I was reprimanding myself for wishing I could as easily give harsh criticism to Remalnan citizens as I did pirates," Alec explained.

Mishalle chuckled. "I heard about that little adventure. It appears that some of your manners were eroded a bit by the experience. Or, at least, your full desire to adhere to those manners."

"Those were my thought exactly."

The colonel in charge of the Tandleth militia barked out his orders to the assembled men and women urging them to form straighter lines, hold their weapons like they knew how to use them, and not to embarrass him and themselves in front of their future King.

Alec sighed. It did not matter what the colonel told his troops, they were sadly lacking in practice. None of the many problems would be fixed today. The Prince could imagine what had softened the militia so in the years since the last Great War. The men and women who fought had come home with their children, who had been protected as much as possible from the violence. The first few years had seen a strong turnout for drills and royal review. The following years there was something that kept the minority from leaving their homes at the time to train: something needed to be fixed that could not wait, the fields needed tending, the animals, a pregnant wife, an injured husband or child. The list was endless, and every year that passed elongated it and the number of militia members who came to train dwindled. Even when there had been the threat of invasion by Denlieff a few years ago, the inhabitants of this county had shrugged the threat off as something that happened up north, not around here. And it was taken care of so quickly, there was never enough of a danger to warrant a militia revival.

General Mishalle took note of his Prince's weariness, and leaned over in his saddle. "Not to worry, Your Highness. The tour is nearly finished and we may return to Athanarel."

"I am counting the bell changes," Alec assured his friend. The rough rumble of Mishalle's restrained chuckle eased Alec's tight shoulders as he refocused on the bumbling militia before him.

The sun climbed to its zenith and passed before Colonel Oregeir called his troops to a halt. Alec signaled the man over. Oregeir visibly bit the inside of his cheek to keep his temper in check as he approached the Prince and General.

"Your Highness, I apologize for the sloppy appearance of these bumpkins," the Colonel announced as he approached the mounted men.

Alec blinked to hide his wince. Obviously the colonel did not understand that he had been called over in order to spare the ears and pride of the local militia members who bothered to at least show up today. "Colonel Oregeir, I understand your frustration."

"Yes, Your Highness."

"The citizens here today clearly understand the need for themselves to be armed and trained. However," the Prince continued, "that sentiment should be commended, not punished. Nonetheless, these ninety-two people from the village and surrounding countryside are not enough to defend against an invading army. Obviously you cannot go into their homes and drag the people to the annual training review, but perhaps there is a way to reward those who do attend as an incentive for the rest."

Oregeir flushed. "Yes Your Highness."

"As for today's…less than professional drills, I suggest you and your men focus on training the militia in a less formal way than you were taught. Make sure they can use a sword, ride a horse, and can shoot a bow if the situation is dire enough that we order a temporary breach of the Covenant. Have them think about their surroundings not only as their home or a source of food, but as a soldier would if trying to pick a battle ground. Those who have lived here their entire lives will surely know every hidden gulch and gully, every unexpected rise and drop of the landscape, and that alone may be what saves them in the end."

That had been exactly what saved the people of Merindar four years ago. Alec's brother-in-law, Flauvic, had remembered a deep canyon away from the village and farmland to trap the invading Denlieffi army. Had he not remembered that land feature from his childhood there very well could have been a bloodbath in one of the marquisates crop fields. If a half of the Remalnan regulars and the small, hastily gathered militia of the area had not managed to win under those circumstances, the people of Merindar would have gone without that winter. And the Crown would have had to send relief putting a strain on who-knew-where and causing more strife than the actual battle.

Colonel Oregeir saluted the Prince, did an about face, and strode over to the two majors under his command to relay the Prince's message. Or rather, in all likelihood, it was the Colonel's own version of the words, Alec mused.

"You handled that well, Your Highness," General Mishalle complimented. "You obviously learned your diplomacy from your father."

Alec chuckled as he nudged his horse, a descendant of his father's famous grey stallion, into a turn and trotted back to the temporary lodging put up at every site in this long, long circuit of reviews. The General followed his lead and directed his own horse to return to base.

"I have to admit," the Prince told Mishalle as they added distance between themselves and the militia, "my mother still has her slightly less than tactful moments when dealing with petty disputes. She's not a woman who easily suffers fools."

The General released a guffaw that echoed off of the trees that lined the dirt track they shared and called the royal attendants out of their own tents to meet them. "That, Your Highness, is one of the biggest understatements I've ever heard!"

Laughing as he dismounted, Alaraec handed the reins of Knight to one of his hostlers. He led Mishalle into the large tent that served as his home away from home. Once the two men shucked their formal hats and military coats and tunics so that they were dressed only in their much cooler shirts and breeches, cool drinks and food were called for, and the two men sat cross-legged on cushions before a low table. Discussion passed from the tediousness of these reviews onto future plans for each.

"What will you do when we return to the palace?" Alec asked.

Grunting as he stretched his slightly arthritic knee, Mishalle considered his next assignment. "Retirement isn't what I thought it would be, my boy. I'm accustomed to going into the field with my troops, to training every day at dawn until nightfall with barely a break for meals between. I am not used to staying behind my own lines to advise and strategize without ever getting to look at the enemy. Unfortunately, that is exactly what my future holds upon our return - a lot of sitting."

"I thought you would look forward to the rest after being sent to the front lines for so many years."

"So did I," he laughed. "But what about you, Alec? What new havoc are you going to be ushered into to sort out?"

Alec picked a slice of melon off of the tray on the table before him, a grim frown twisting his mouth. "My ongoing issue is with the Brotherhood of the Damned. I'm sure you've heard of it."

"A bit," Mishalle agreed. "Something about Norsunder hiring pirates as mercenaries?"

"To put it mildly," Alec said. "Of course the Norsundrian government is denying everything to diplomats and court delegates, but we're nearly certain that the Emperor has the Brotherhood in employ. In fact, it's my belief that there are now trained naval ships passing as pirate ships in order to further weaken the coasts of Remalna and our allies."

Mishalle frowned. "How did you come to that conclusion?"

"A pirate crew will go to land occasionally to attack a small, undefended village or port and take booty—usually any gold, silver, gems, and the like, along with some food and fresh water—but they prefer to stay at sea. It is the terrain they know best, and they can use their knowledge of shoals, reefs, or wave patterns in their territory to their advantage. They don't try to take on a large, well defended settlement, nor do they leave behind what they could use or sell when they sail away. Yet two small cities, complete with seawalls in Colend were attacked in the last year. There were also five similar attacks in Sartor itself, and three in Sles Adran. In none of these did the so-called pirates take so much as a lady's brooch with them when they left."

"Hm," the General mused. "You're right. Doesn't sound pirate-like at all. I've never faced any myself, not having ever been to sea, but the same principles you mentioned could be applied to raiders on land. They go for weak, unguarded villages or small towns and scour them clean of anything that could be bartered, traded, sold, used, or eaten. Only an organized military action goes to a defended city and levels it."

"Exactly."

"What's your plan then"

"We have spies placed in the Norsundrian army and navy relaying information, as well as a few brave souls in the Emperor's court trying to learn of any plans or military movement. My cousin is currently in charge of the covert information gathering until my return."

"How _is_ Nadav Savona?" Mishalle asked with a wry grin. "I haven't seen him in years."

"Nadav is…" Alec laughed. "Well, he's still charming his way into ladies hearts and beds, but he has matured enough take over some of his father's responsibilities at his estate and help me with my spy network."

"Still hasn't settled down, eh? Surprising, given his parentage. The Duke and Duchess seemed to have been wed since childhood regardless of their tiffs and numerous falling outs."

Alec shook his heat at Mishalle's wording. If his description of his mother had been an understatement, the General verged on outright slander. The fights between the Duke of Savona and his wife, Tamara of Chamadis, were legendary at Court for their length, ferocity, and drama. Even after more than twenty-five years of marriage, there were still extended periods of time when Aunt Tamara retired to Chamadis with an "illness." During those weeks, occasionally months, Uncle Russav spent most evenings with the royal family. Not that that was a horrible fate to suffer. Russav Savona was a lively guest and a wonderful storyteller.

"There's no special woman in my cousin's life but it seems as though Nadav is getting tired of his aimless philandering. Almost as if he's getting cynical."

"Frankly, Alec, I'm surprised that you're not more cynical regarding romance."

The glass of cool fruit punch stopped mid-passage to Alec's mouth. "What do you mean?"

"Unless I'm terribly out of the gossip circle," Mishalle said, "there is still no one in your life who will one day wear the title of Queen. And, Alec, it's not as though every woman at Court isn't looking at you without a future title in mind. Even the sweet, genuine girls aren't unaware of your status."

"Yes, but most of those ladies I've known all my life," Alec pointed out. "I can differentiate between the title sharks, the twits, and the women who are actually worth the effort of staying in their good graces by now."

"Ha! That last bit did have a ring of cynicism to it, my boy. I am satisfied."

"I think you're getting bitter, old man."

After a beat of companionable silence, Mishalle asked, "Have you gotten any letters from home in the last week?"

"None yet, but I haven't checked the box in a few days," Alec told him. Since he hated to drag more personnel with him than he had to on these sorts of trips, Alec didn't have servants who had servants to run and fetch things for him at every turn. He stood up and walked into the double screened portion of his tent that housed his bed and his luggage. Inside one of his bags was a small silver case about the size of his palm and no deeper than the thickness of his smallest finger. His father had given to him when he had gone to Marlovan-Hess. The trainees were not allowed to send or receive post while attending the military institute, but both Alec and his father when he had attended as a boy had wanted to stay in contact with their families, so Alaerec the First, Alec's grandfather, had given his son a spelled case that could magically transport letters and books over large distances. Vidanric Rensalaeus had had the case modified to be smaller, and therefore easier to hide, when he sent his own son for training. Now Alec, his parents, and each of his siblings had their own cases so that they could remain in contact no matter how far apart they were or what sort of difficulty they faced.

Now that he was an adult and trusted to the point of almost being a co-ruler at this point, Alec only received letters once a week or so from his parents to let him know what was going on at the palace in Athanarel-city. Occasionally he got letters from his younger sisters. The elder was now a busy mother, marquise of a recuperating estate after many generations of neglect by her husband's predecessors, part-time diplomat, and burgeoning playwright. She didn't have a lot of time to write to her big brother. The youngest was usually at Dyranarya Mage Academy learning to focus her incredible magical gift. All three Rensaleaus children had inherited some ability from their mother, but Oria was the only one driven to go beyond the simplest of spells.

Alec brought the case back to the table, and sat to open it. To his surprise, there were three letters inside. One was in his mother's hand, another in Nadav's, and the last was written by his sister Elestra.

"What's all the fuss that you got three letters today?" Mishalle asked.

"I have no idea…" Alec murmured as he scanned through his mother's letter for any words that might set off an alarm. He found _navy, spies, Norsunder, Brotherhood, _and, most terrifying of all, _Ezranya Fyn. _"Oh, no."

"What is it?"

He held up a finger to ask for a moment to read the missive in its entirety. Mishalle stilled all movement, his body tensing for a quick flight into battle. Alec felt his own trained muscles tensing in readiness for a fight because that seemed to be the only thing he and Captain Ezranya Fyn ever did the whole time they knew one another.

Most of the letter was an overview of things that he already knew, and a few interesting new developments. One was that a ship sailing with red sails and flying the flag of the Brotherhood of the Damned was seen near Remalnan waters for the first time in a year and a half. (or was it 2 years?) When he reached this part, Alec began to read aloud.

"'…When one of the sailors was asked to describe the ship, he gave a nearly identical description of it as you did of the Red see how many crewmembers…a strange blonde woman standing at the bow….'"

Alec winced. His stomach rolled over and a sour-sweet taste came to his mouth. If the "strange blonde woman" was the same woman he had met while impersonating a pirate to sneak aboard the Red Lantern, the Brotherhood's flagship at the time, then Remalna was in for trouble. Zirellia Ianthe was a beautiful, dangerous woman with a giant chip on her shoulder due to her partial blindness. She used her beauty and sensuality to draw men in, made them want to protect her, and bound them to her cause. She was also a powerful sorceress with frightening abilities to cloud a person's mind, pry into their thoughts, and control their behavior. She used that power on the crew of the Lantern to keep them recklessly loyal to her and to the captain of that ship. She had tried to do the same to him, and the only thing that kept him from being sucked under, Alec felt, was his own magical gift from his mother, and his lifelong control over his words and expression at Court.

"Burn it! I knew she would be a problem to deal with."

"Who?" Mishalle asked.

"Zirellia Ianthe," Alec said as he went back to reading. "I'll explain in a moment."

…Due to the rising number of city attacks, and the sightings of the Brotherhood in our waters, you can see why your father and I have decided to pull out our pirate-hunting trump card. We've sent a riding out to the vineyard Captain Fyn bought with the money we provided him and his crew upon their pardoning to bring Ezranya Fyn to Athanarel. We hope that she'll be able to help up put a stop to the Brotherhood for good this time.

The rest of the letter held details about palace life, family matters, and hopes that Alec would return safely.

Alec groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is going to be a disaster."

"What is, boy?!" Mishalle demanded. "You keep groaning and griping, but you won't tell me what's wrong."

"The pirate issue I was telling you about earlier? There's been a new development. One of the Brotherhood's ships was spotted in Remalnan waters. Onboard there was a woman—"

"The blonde your mother mentioned? Is that Zirellia?"

"That's her. If it's the same woman, I've met her before. She is very powerful, and very frightening. And if she is the one coming against us again, she has a grudge to settle. The men on her ship will be intensely, even suicidally loyal to her. So my parents thought it best to call in a pirate expert to help assess and counter the situation."

"And who might that be?"

"Her name is Ezranya Fyn," Alec said. "She's an ex-pirate herself; raised by her grandfather, Captain 'Fearless' Fyn, after her parents were killed by raiders."

"Oh, she's that pirate," Mishalle mused with a grin. "Yes, yes. I should like to meet her."

Alec's pale grey eyes darkened to the color of storm clouds. "What exactly have you heard?"

"Well, I believe everyone in Remalna has heard about that kiss by now."

"She was just being difficult!" Alec defended himself.

"And apparently that wasn't the first time she'd kissed you, either," Mishalle talked over him, ignoring his young friend's outburst. "No, the first time she hit you afterward. You had a lovely sunset over your eye for two weeks."

"That's not…." Alec closed his eyes and took a deep breath to regain his composure. "We worked together that one time. We didn't get along the entire three months we were on the Valiant together. We constantly argued and clashed over whom exactly was in charge of the ship. And the kisses were more of an aggressive act to show that she had the upper hand in our confrontations."

"But your parents think that she can be of some help with the Brotherhood."

"And it's obvious that they waited until I was too far away to object before they contacted her. They knew I wouldn't be happy about it." Alec paused to consider. "Not that I think she'll come. She said that she wouldn't leave her grandfather while he still lived. Noble, that. And she's stubborn, too. She won't leave just because the King and Queen of her country ask her to. Besides, she turned down the first offer what makes them think that she'll accept the second?" he mused. "I don't think she'd set foot in the palace even if she was ordered to. Not unless she was chained and dragged by burly guards. Deaf burly guards."

He chuckled.

"Is that admiration I hear in your voice, Alec?" Mishalle jibed.

Alec sobered. "Hardly. She's too rash. She doesn't think before she opens her mouth. She's spoiled. And, as I stated before, we disagreed on nearly every subject."

He jerked Nadav's letter open, and began to read it while General Mishalle smirked at him from across the table. Alec picked out most of the same warning words in his cousin's communication that he had in his mother's. Spies, Brotherhood of the Damned, and Ezranya Fyn. Only Nadav's held good news. His letter was sent a few days after his mother's.

"Listen to this and see if you're still smirking, old man," Alec told the General. "'It is too bad that the lovely Ezranya Fyn declined Her Majesty's invitation to join the fight against the Brotherhood as she did before. Aunt Mel was quite put out.'"

"Such a shame," Mishalle said reclining on the cushions piled up behind him. "I was looking forward to meeting the girl."

"Good for me, though. I don't fancy another shouting match."

"She really got you to shout?"

Alec lips twisted up in a wry smirk. "Once or twice."

"Life! Why did she hate you so much?" he asked as he tried to find a comfortable spot.

The Prince dropped all signs of amusement, his face going sad and serious. "I killed her husband."

The General stilled his shifting. "Oh."

Alec shrugged. "It was a common law marriage, not official. But I understand it from one of Ezra's uncles that as soon as Willem had enough money of his own to settle down, they were going to move to land and make their marriage legal. They'd been together for several years. She hated me because I killed him—regardless that it was in the middle of battle, and he would have killed me had I given him the chance."

"Poor girl."

The Prince gave him a look. "Not you as well. Somehow Ezranya Fyn manages to win over people to her side despite her former piracy. And now you who've never even met her."

Mishalle chuckled, and, having finally found a comfortable spot, drifted off for an afternoon nap.

Alec sighed, and looked down at the letter in his hand. He smiled. "Still," he thought to himself, "at least she's not coming to the palace. I really don't know how we would act around one another this time."

He tossed the letters and the case to the side and found a comfy spot on the floor for a nap of his own, completely forgetting that there was a letter from his sister still in the box.


	4. Reunions

Gypsy Queen

Chapter 4: Reunions

Ezra squinted in the slanting sunlight despite the wide brim of her feathered hat. The royal palace was a feast for the eyes when it was bathed in the shining rays of the rising sun. The light made the whitewashed stone glow, it glinted off the gold flecks in white marble windowsills, and highlighted the beautiful carved accents at the corners and at every doorway. Just as it had the first time she saw the sight, its majesty almost took her breath away. Almost.

"Ah, it's nice to be home!" exclaimed Elestra with a grin so wide it nearly split her face in two.

"I thought Merindar was home," replied her husband in a tone that bespoke his having taken offense.

"I meant it's nice to be back at my _childhood_ home; Merindar is _our_ home. Besides, we have a home here too," returned the Marquise linking her arm through his before beckoning Ezra to follow. "Come Ezra, my parents will want to meet with you immediately. The servants will see to your luggage and accommodations."

With a guilty glance back at the men and women who were now in charge of her baggage, Ezra trailed silently behind the noble couple who laughed and joked with seemingly carefree abandon as they traversed the beautifully tiled floors of the hallways that were lined with rich tapestries. Uncaring of where they led her, Ezra let her eyes wander over the elegant furnishings surrounding her. She was jolted out of her reverie when a familiar tapestry caught her eye. They were headed towards the library! For some inexplicable reason her heart gave a solid thump, and bruised itself against her breastbone.

However, the lord and lady traipsed past the great colorwood doors of the library, barely pausing to nod a greeting to the servants who stood on hand to open those great carved creations. "Aren't we…" Ezra began, pointing uncertainly to the library's main entrance, where _he _most probably was waiting – no doubt! - to get back at her for the debacle last year.

"Oh no," interrupted Elestra. "Alec, as well as Nadav, uses the alcove now whenever he's home since it'd be too troublesome for him to travel back and forth between here and the royal wing for all the maps and materials he needs to do his work. My parents work primarily in the comforts of their suite."

Ezra let out a lungful of air she had not known she was holding as she quickened her pace to catch up with them.

"Ah, you mean Vidanric's finally admitted that he's too old to make the long, arduous trek to the library? Meliara's really not letting him out of her sight is she?" asked Flauvic. "Not that I believe she ever would. Perhaps her eyesight isn't what it used to be when she was surrounded by endless greenery in Tlanth. That may explain why she's keeping him close. Of course, they could have cloistered themselves up for some other reason…" he arched an eyebrow suggestively.

Ezra was vastly amused by the color that spread from Elestra's cheeks to her neck at her husband's insinuation. It was clear that the princess had yet to put much thought into the existence of sexual love between an older couple. Ezra herself had no illusions about the fact that people as old as her grandfather still had desires which needed to be fulfilled by their partner or otherwise. Having lived aboard a pirate ship for most of her life taught her that much.

"Flauvic Esais Merindar! Do I have to remind you that technically you're as old as my parents? And they work themselves to the bone in that suite…"

"_Work_ indeed," said Flauvic just loudly enough for Ezra to hear over his wife's obvious agitation. He tossed a glance Ezra's way and winked when she grinned

Like the rest of the palace, the royal wing was elegantly adorned with an understated air of formality that gradually diminished to be replaced by a certain coziness as they made their way from the more public areas to the private rooms of the Royal Family. They passed through the formal entrance into the sitting room and then came to a halt outside a pair of double doors that Ezra recalled opened into their parlor – a room decorated in varying shades of gold and white.

"Here we are," said Lord Flauvic, exchanging a quick look with his wife before turning to Ezra. "I'm dreading this as much as you are, you know. With all of the bad blood between us, I can barely tolerate being in the same room with my in-laws." He chuckled, a soft, self-deprecating sound that resonated from deep within his chest. Crooking his free left arm, he offered it to the ex-pirate with an expression caught between a grin and a grimace, "We might as well make a grand entrance."

Ezra breathed deeply to calm her churning stomach. _What's wrong with me today?_ She wondered, clenching and unclenching her hands before resting her fingers on the Marquis arm. Elestra rapped a staccato beat on one of the doors, waited a moment then turned the latch.

The King knelt at his desk, upon which sat a few stacks of parchment, a holder of quills, and a bottle of ink. He looked up as they entered grey eyes still as perceptive as she remembered, and so much like his son that for an instant she would have sworn it was the younger man whom she saw before her. The Queen was curled up in the window seat, sunlight streaming through the clear glass, turning her gray-streaked autumn-colored hair a burnished red-gold. She continued reading the book in her lap as the trio settled themselves on to cushions before the King.

Suddenly, she exclaimed, "Done!" and shut the book with a snap. Beaming, she rose to her feet and strode towards her daughter, bending at the waist to press a kiss to the expectant mother's temple. Then, she moved to the other side of the desk and knelt beside the King.

After what seemed an unending stream of welcome greetings and enquiries of each other's well being, the King said, "As we're all in good health and spirits, shall we move this meeting out of doors? I've been sitting at this desk all day, and I could use the fresh air."

Minutes later, a dazed Ezra found herself strolling through the queen's well-manicured private gardens with her arm linked through the king's. Despite the time it had taken for them all to vacate the Royal Suite, traverse the lengthy hallways and winding staircases, and stroll amongst the floral abundance; she was still recovering from the king's firm yet polite insistence on escorting her. One could not simply refuse royalty their whims, right? And she said as much with a self-conscious chuckle when he had offered her his arm.

His Majesty replied, "You didn't seem too worried about refusing my son's decisions on many occasions." She could not tell if he had been joking or not, and vowed to hold her tongue unless it was absolutely necessary to speak.

Lord Flauvic, Princess Elestra, and the Queen trailed behind them, discussing – she guessed, as bits of their conversation drifted towards her, the recent developments in affairs of the state and chatting gaily about the goings-on in their day to day lives.

"I take that your opportune arrival in Athanarel signifies your acceptance of the naval commission?" asked the king.

Ezra looked up into his questioning gaze. "Yes," she replied with no elaboration or reason for her sudden change of mind. He was too polite to pursue the matter.

After a slight pause he continued, "You'll begin your training two days hence, time enough for you to get settled in and to reacquaint yourself with your old friends…"

"Training?! No one mentioned anything…" Ezra interrupted, only to be cut off abruptly but no less politely. _Why does everything he do seem to fall within the bounds of civil behavior when the exact opposite can be said for mine?_

"The details of your training were stated quite clearly on the papers that were dispatched to you via a riding of soldiers we had sent on that very errand. Perhaps you've yet to read the fine print?" She could have sworn he was laughing at her, not that he was literally laughing; something about his eyes spoke volumes about his mirth at her expense. "Your training would involve basic military drills and duties on land before any actual work at sea, though I fear there may not be enough time for you to be fully inducted into our naval training program."

"Why is that?" asked Ezra instinctively, remembering too late her vow to keep silent unless required. She winced at her folly, and bit her tongue to serve as a reminder for the next five minutes.

A piercing look through lowered eyelids was sent her way. "Let me worry about that for the time being. You will be informed all too soon, I'm sure," came the cool reply. "Upon the completion of your basic military training you'll be officially awarded a captaincy. Till then, the title of 'captain' will be merely ornamental in honor of the past service you did Remalna."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak despite her objections.

"My wife and I believe you will acquit yourself well from our limited interactions with you, as well as the positive character and ability appraisals we've received from our children."

Ezra would have snorted at the ludicrous idea of Rider giving her a 'positive character and ability appraisal' if the King had not gone on to pull out a wad of papers sealed with wax and stamped with the royal seal out of the inner pocket of his silk lined coat.

"If we're in agreement, here are your papers containing whatever you may need to know as a member of the Remalnan military, as well as the details regarding your salary and various other minutiae."

Wordlessly, she took what symbolized her military career and slipped it into her breast pocket. When she returned her gaze to the man standing beside her, he saluted her. The trio trailing behind them had ceased their conversation and watched mutely as Ezra repaid the compliment with equal solemnity.

Seeing no reason to prolong Ezra's obvious discomfort, the King led the small party to the guard barracks, and left her with Sergeant Timmon. The middle-aged Sergeant took Ezra on a brief tour of what would serve as her home while she endured the training the Crown required of her. He showed her to one of the female barracks and left her to settle in. She dropped the bags that contained her meager belongings onto the bare bed she had been assigned to Ezra took a quick look around at her surroundings. As the newest addition to the latest batch of recruits her bed was situated right by the door to their dormitory. For now, the large room was empty and Ezra was grateful for the peace and quiet, for she did not feel up to socializing at the moment.

In minutes, her well-worn tunics, shirts, underclothes, saber, and spare knives had been stowed into the chest by the foot of her bed. The only thing that remained unpacked was the pink glass shell that served as one of the few reminders she had of her sea faring days. After removing the fragile object from its bandanna wrapping, she tentatively pressed the cool glass to her cheek, slowly inhaling the slightly musky smell of too many sweaty bodies before giving into the tempting sounds of the sea.

&&&

Having settled the larger part of the militia problem in Tlandeth, Alaraec had left Mishalle in charge of overseeing the remaining matters that needed to be resolved, and returned home to Athanarel-city with a single riding of soldiers for a brief respite. Although he knew that he had earned a well-deserved break, thoughts of an upcoming diplomatic assembly that was to be held at the palace weighed heavily upon his mind.

His old friend and comrade Thanyl Keriam should be back from his naval duties by then, and he looked forward to his reunion with the man he regarded as an older brother. The two men had had scant opportunities to communicate these past two years as each was busy with their own duties, and these opportunities were mostly spent on exchanging news from both fronts.

Alec also thought deeply about what he labeled the 'pirate problem' throughout his journey. Despite Ezranya Fyn being out of the picture, the bigger problems that he faced were still there. He sighed, hoping that the impending summit of foreign ambassadors would throw up further solutions to the threat that they all faced.

"Your Highness?" asked Lieutenant Major Jovin, one of the soldiers that made up a part of his light escort.

"Hmm?" sounded Alec with a distracted air, before it occurred to him to look upon the young man who had addressed him. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

Jovin smiled sympathetically before repeating, "I asked if you'd like to stop for the night in yonder town before we make the last leg of our journey tomorrow, sir."

Alec reined in his mount, and turned to face the small band of men and women with him. He saw dust-stained faces and tired eyes, but not a single one of them made an indication that they were too tired to continue. They were well trained to obey orders, and now awaited his. "We would make better time if we continued on, but I see that most of us are tired. Let the troops know that we're stopping to camp. We'll sleep outside the inn so that we don't tax the staff too heavily. Suddenly needing to supply grain and water for over a dozen horses will be burden enough. The men still have rations left, I assume?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I would hate to add the feeding of an entire riding of humans to the inn's load, as well. Let's move out."

Jovin called out the Prince's orders while Alaraec nudged his mount forward toward the small town of Adelle. The men and women at his back accepted the order as they did every other, and stoically followed the Prince. But when finally allowed to rest after the day's long journey, Alec caught the sound of their relieved groans as they settled their packs on the dirt.

A few years ago, Alec would have had his escort push on for a few more miles before giving leave to rest, but listening to his subordinates' advice and opinions was now second nature. It had been hard broken into him. Inwardly, he recalled that his father's had taught him the theoretical aspect of this lesson, however, it was precisely who he had intended to put out of his mind not a half-candle before that had coerced him into putting into practice what he had learned.

&&&

Alaraec rode through the gates of Athanarel soon after second blue change the next day. Elestra had her two children on a quiet picnic with their nanny, and was the first to notice his return. She sent Renayr to find her parents and husband while she gathered Keneric and Elaina, and rushed forward to greet her brother.

The dull ache in Alec's bones dissipated as he was enveloped in hug after hug from his sister and nephew. Only moments passed before he saw his brother-in-law descending the steps of one of the side entrances. Following shortly there after, the beaming King and Queen came into view via the main entrance. Despite the joyous atmosphere, he did not fail to notice the added watchfulness everyone had. After accepting a kiss on the cheek from Elestra he asked, "What's wrong? Everyone seems so tense. Even Mama and she's the most carefree person I know." He jerked his head towards his mother who blew him a kiss as she and his father came towards them.

Elestra's expression was half incredulous and half intrepid. "Didn't you get my letter?" she asked in hushed tones.

"What letter?" Alec stretched out his arms to receive his baby niece Elaina who was straining away from her mother. "Oh, _that_ letter. It was underneath several others, and I forgot to read it. Why?"

"Ezra accepted the commission," blurted Elestra. She watched her older brother for signs of his displeasure and saw his arms tighten around Elaina. The baby began to cry. "Alec! You're hurting her!" She made a grab for the infant, cradling the child to her breast to stifle her cries.

"The axe finally falls," Flauvic muttered as he wrapped an arm around Elestra's shoulders, the other arm extended for a handshake.

"Says the man who compelled her to come in the first place," she hissed back.

Flauvic nodded to concede her point, and gave Alec a sympathetic look. "She's improved, Alec. I swear she's almost beginning to behave like a lady. Or, at least, she has a conscience about what should not come out of her mouth in certain company." His expression turned grave. "Most importantly, we need her, and you know it."

Alec wordlessly pulled the silver case from his breast pocket, flipped it open and slid out Elestra's letter. Unfolding the paper he began to read. When he had come to the end of the missive, he released a resigned sigh.

The King and Queen converged upon their party just then, and the Queen upon hearing his exhalation of breath asked as she peered worriedly into his face, "You aren't too upset by our decision are you, Alec?" Meliara hated trying to read her son's emotion on his face, for he could be even more adept than his father at hiding his true feelings when he chose to.

"It's no use complaining about what's done now, is there, Mama?" he returned dryly. Pocketing Elestra's letter, he eased his mother's worries with an embrace, and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "Don't worry about me you've got more than enough to worry about."

Vidanric took one look at his son and heir's face, took in the set of his jaw and the metal hardness of his eyes, and saw that the picture-perfect representation of the obedient child was, in fact, just a picture. Calmly, he requested for Alec to take a stroll with him and for the rest of the family to get back to whatever they had been previously occupied with.

"I'm coming with you," stated Meliara, as he had known she was wont to do. He put on his best soothing smile to set her at ease.

"Can't I have some time alone with my son, Mel? You monopolized him the last time he was home. We'll share him over dinner I promise." Thus saying, he cupped her face in his hands murmuring, "Let me talk to him." Then he kissed her softly on the mouth.

"He's angry at us isn't he?" she whispered.

Vidanric straightened, and glanced over his shoulder where his son waited staring into the distant red-gold sky of dusk. "Indeed, a bit. He's no longer our little boy, Mel. Even as king, not everything will go his way. I shall speak with him."

Meliara blew out a breath of air in exasperation before replying, "Go speak with him. Don't be late for dinner." After pressing her lips to his cheek, she left.

&&&

"You can speak plain with me. I read you much better than your mother," Vidanric broke the silence by saying.

"You should've informed me of your plan to get Ezranya Fyn involved." Alec winced at how petulant he sounded.

Vidanric knew from his tone that he had to be careful. "We should have, and we did, albeit later than you would've liked. In our defense I can only say that we assumed you had an idea of our plan when we offered her a commission when her first task was completed. Her refusal put our long-term plan for her on hold for a time, but the plan never changed."

"Long-term plan?" asked Alec, alarmed but not surprised that his parents had thought long and hard about situation regarding Ezra Fyn.

"There's always a bigger picture, you know that. Observe—"

"—Not just the perimeter but the details." Alec smiled at the familiar quote, a condensation of the lessons his father had learned from his father before him. Vidanric smiled back fondly, basking for an instant in the glory of a father's pride.

"Ezranya Fyn may prove to be our greatest asset against Norsunder if what you previously reported is correct. She has friends who continue to commit piracy, who in turn would have pirating friends of their own. They would serve as a foil, for a foil is what we require. Norsunder has been hiring pirates – specifically the Brotherhood of the Damned, to do its dirty work. They've taken it a step further by disguising their naval ships as pirate ships…."

Again, Alec interrupted. "Our hypothesis was true then?"

Vidanric nodded his assent. "One of our ships captured a 'pirate' vessel off the eastern coast three days ago. Those of the crew who did not escape fought to the death – every single one of them. It is my belief that they were to avoid capture at all costs should they fail, so as not to implicate the Norsundrian government in any way. Real pirates would've surrendered. They're bloodthirsty thieves, but they are survivalists at all costs. There is always a chance to escape the gallows, even if it is a very slim chance.

"But, as I was saying, since they've resorted to trickery our best bet is to outsmart them at their own game. We already have spies in their midst, but these agents have yet to rise to a suitably advantageous position. Also, we still lack a clear idea of their magical capabilities. Besides Zirellia Ianthe, should we prepare for a greater magical threat?"

Alec dropped abruptly onto one of the stone benches dotting the royal gardens, and tilted his head back to stare into the treetops leaning back against his arms for support. Danric seated himself more sedately with a flick of his coat tails and clapped his son on the back. "Brace up," he said, "we have allies to help us figure this out and they don't. That's an advantage."

"A fat lot of good that will do if Norsunder has the power to blast us all into oblivion," grumbled Alec. "Or perhaps Zirellia will dazzle us all and force us to kill each other while we believe we slaughter the enemy."

"Then we have to find a power to defeat hers and more. We already have allies and Ezra Fyn."

"You're absolutely certain we can't do it without her?" asked Alec jokingly.

"I'm afraid not. Come, it's almost time for dinner." Vidanric stood and offered Alec a hand up.

"How do you do it all?" mused Alec out loud, grasping his father's proffered hand and heaving himself to his feet.

His father looked over at him in surprise and replied, "With large amounts of help, of course! I would've buckled under the pressure of doing it all alone."

Linking an arm through his father's Alec said, "And in this, we need all the help we can get," adding with a grimace of mock pain, "even Ezra Fyn's."

&&&

Ezra woke early the next morning to the chime of the bells for first gold. The other women in the barrack rolled out of their beds and rushed to get ready. They had drills and duties to attend to. Ezra's training wasn't officially going to start for another day to give her time to adjust to her new surroundings and meet with her new mentors, but she wanted to go down the practice courts and see if her sword skills were as rusty as she suspected they were.

She dragged herself out of bed, and pulled on a pair of leather breeches made soft with age and use. She slipped a tight band of cloth across her chest to secure her breasts, and pulled the crossed straps up on her shoulders to keep the band in place. A cotton shirt that once was blue went over the top, and finally a pair of stockings with holes, and her boots.

She ran a hand through her hair, but didn't bother to brush it. Instead, she pulled a length of yarn out of the blanket that had been issued to her and used it to tie her hair back in a tangled, messy bun. She used a tooth stick to remove the nasty taste of sleep. Once her morning toiletries were done, Ezra grabbed her curved saber and headed to the practice courts.

There were already quite a few people there. They were mostly courtiers from the looks of how they were dressed. While they were in breeches and shirts as Ezra was, the leather was new and made supple by skilled working of the material, not by work, and the shirts were thick-weaved, unstained, and sewn by skilled hands to look almost like a single piece of cloth. Their boots shone, and they were well groomed. Sure signs of wealth.

Ezra kept near to the wall as she made her way inside. She wasn't sure what the procedure here was. On the _Fearless_ all she'd had to do was ask any of the off-duty crewmen if they wanted to test their blades, but these people weren't family. She couldn't ask them like she did her surrogate uncles and brothers.

"Ezra?"

She spun to look to her left at the sound of a familiar voice calling her name. Naval Commander Thanyl Keriam stepped away from a group of men and came forward to meet her. He was smiling, an offer of renewed friendship in her suddenly very lonely world, and Ezra smiled in return.

"Keriam! How have you been?"

He grasped her hand in a warm, friendly greeting. "I'm well. I didn't know you were at the palace. When did you get here? _Why_ are you here? I would have thought that you would rot before coming back to this place."

Ezra tried to keep her bottom lip sucked in. "I was tricked. I knew it even while I agreed to come, but I couldn't abide that…well, that someone would think I wouldn't come to help when I'd been asked because I was afraid or something. So I'm here. I even got a commission as a captain—once I go through all the formal training."

"Ah." Keriam looked over her head as he considered something. After a moment, he shook his head and turned his face back down to hers. "Since you're here, would you like to have a go? I notice you brought your blade."

"I'd like that. I wasn't sure how to ask…" she admitted.

Keriam led her to a fencing ring near the center of the long room. There were other pairs in separate circles already clashing steel. Before they started, Keriam did make her exchange her saber for one of the practice foils. Since Ezra really had no idea what the civilized rules were, she let him guide her actions. She didn't know how to position her feet like the other fencers did, and she had no idea what patterns they were using. Keriam won the first round.

"You're thinking too much," he accused. "I've seen you fight, and you were never that distracted."

"I don't know how to fight like you are," she said.

"I'm sure that your trainers will give you lessons on style and technique. For now, just go through the moves that you are most used to. I would like very much to see how your skills have fared in the past two years."

Ezra chuckled. "That's what I'm here to find out, too." She shook her limbs out. "Let's go again."

This time, Ezra didn't worry about her feet matching Keriam's. She focused on his torso and his foil. She countered his thrusts, albeit roughly, and waited for her moment to dive in and strike a blow. Her movements were unsure at first, but she soon regained her confidence. Their second round lasted longer, and they had a real duel on their hands. Unfortunately, Ezra had let her sword muscles atrophy in favor of muscles needed on the vineyard. Her arms began to burn, and her instincts were to end the match quickly.

How does a pirate end the match?

Kill the opponent. By any means necessary.

She let off on her attack, let Keriam get in close, and grabbed his wrist. His eyes widened in surprise, but a lifetime of piracy rode her now. She did not recall that she was no longer a pirate, neither did she remember that this was just swordplay, nor did it register that he was a friend, or that she would hurt him if she didn't stop. She brought her foil into position for the last thrust under his ribs, but a third sword entered the fray and parried her blade.

Ezra stumbled back panting. She closed her eyes for a second to let her eyes refocus. Eyes still closed, she licked her lips and apologized. "Sorry, Keriam. Wasn't even thinking. Sorry. I don't usually lose focus like that."

"You had me worried for a moment, Ezra," Keriam admitted. "If Alec here hadn't come along when he did…well, it doesn't serve to think on."

At the Prince's name, Ezra's eyes flew open. Sure enough, the owner of the third blade that had kept her from skewering Keriam was none other than His Royal Highness, Prince Alaraec.

Keriam was still talking. "Next time we spar, we'll have to make sure you keep your focus. My deepest thanks, Alec."

"I could hardly let you get gutted in the training courts, Thanyl," Alec said to his friend, but his eyes never left the shocked ones of the woman a few steps away from him. "Captain. Nice to see you again. I trust that your family is well."

"Uh….Yes. Yes, everyone was fine when I left."

"And your journey to Athanarel wasn't too taxing?"

"No." What was this? Was he honestly treating her to social niceties? She shook her head. "Don't go wasting small-talk on me, Rider. You don't want me here anymore than I want to be here. But I am. And I'm going to go now since I think I've embarrassed myself enough for one day, and your sister invited me to have morning tea with her."

She grabbed the hilt of her saber in one hand as she set the foil down with the other. She turned to leave, calling back, "Sorry again, Keriam."

With that, she fled the practice court.

&&&

A/N: I'm not sure if you guys have noticed but our chapters are growing progressively longer. We can only hope that you don't find them too long. Once again, I apologize for the late update but it seems that life has gotten the best of us (and email can be unreliable).

We've currently completed Chapter 6 and I'll get cracking on Chapter 7 soon. I'm pretty sure you guys will enjoy what we have in store for you. Till then, enjoy!

FS&EG


	5. Protocol

Gypsy Queen

Chapter 5: Protocol

Elestra smiled at Ezra from the floor when her guest was shown into her family's suite at the palace. The smile faded when she saw how rattled Ezra was. She was groomed well enough, considering the state of her wardrobe—most of what she had ordered made for her two years ago being worn out by work on her grandfather's vineyard, and the rest simply old. She was searching the room as if she was afraid there were assassins behind the curtains. She wasn't exactly shaking, but she couldn't seem to stand still.

"Ezra, what ever is the matter? Are you all right?" Elestra asked as she stood and went to lead Ezra to the .

"Fine. Lovely. Nearly gutted Keriam at the practice courts this morning. Oh, and I saw your brother."

"Ah, I see," Elestra said. "He wasn't sharp with you, was he? He wasn't pleased when he discovered you were here."

Ezra huffed. "As if he could be anything but polite in public. In fact, he was too polite. I knew something was wrong. Not pleased to know I'm here? Well, I'm not thrilled to be in his presence, either." She sighed, and, forgetting formality in her distraction, flopped down on one of the cushions on the floor.

"I suppose this isn't the best time to extend an invitation to Alec's small welcome back garden party?"

She raised her eyebrows at the Marquise. "Why would you even suggest that? I'm hardly the kind to be at a Court party, regardless of who it's for."

Elestra smiled. "Actually, there is going to be someone there who wants to meet you. I mentioned you last evening at dinner. My parents invited him to dine with us, to welcome Alec home. The topic of the pirate problem came up, and I didn't even think before I mentioned your name, but Kaelen has this fascination with pirates, and he was enthralled. He wants to meet you, and I thought that Alec's party would be the perfect place."

"Kaelen?" Ezra felt her heart quail. Anyone of this ilk remotely interested in pirates was only interested in hunting them down and killing them. She halted her train of thought when her eyes met Elestra's kindly gaze.

"Kaelen-dei Landis, Crown Prince of Sartor. He's a distant friend of ours who cherished dreams of becoming a pirate when he was a child." Elestra chuckled at Ezra's dubious expression. "You have to understand that his youthful notion of piracy was limited to swashbuckling adventures on the high seas."

"I'm afraid he'll be disappointed. I'm a sorry excuse for a pirate," said Ezra with a mock sigh.

"How so?" asked Elestra. "They haven't been calling you the Pirate Princess for nothing you know."

Ezra groaned at the mention of the nickname that had stuck since her last stay here. "For one thing, I don't have an eye patch or a peg leg. Neither do I have a pet parrot or a moustache." She paused for dramatic effect, "That is what he had in mind when he thought of a pirate, right?"

A grin tugged at Elestra's lips for a second and the twinkle in her eye betrayed her amusement, but she schooled her expression into one of utter seriousness before replying, "Since you put it that way, I suppose he will be sorely disappointed."

"Well, that's that then," Ezra said, thankful that a conclusion had been reached.

"We could always pirate you back up a bit," Elestra suggested. "Not necessarily a patch or peg leg, but…those braids you wore when you were here last were charming. Quite piratey. We could find a good seamstress to make you something fitting for the party, as well. We have a few days yet to make the preparations."

"You're not seriously suggesting I go, are you?" Ezra squawked.

"Why ever not?"

"Firstly, I'm a nobody, daughter of a nobody—I don't belong at some great royal party."

"It's more a gathering of friends and family than a party," Elestra clarified.

"I'm neither. Secondly, I'm not particularly fond of the person this gathering is being thrown for, and everyone at the party knows it. And thirdly, I can't imagine that this is going to help me win any approval from those of my own station if they feel I'm the royal pet." Ezra frowned. "I will not be some prize animal they trot out when they want to make a statement. I was told that my skills as a sailor and captain, and my knowledge of pirate tactics was needed, not that they wanted to show off the tamed 'Pirate Princess' to their friends."

"That's not why you were brought here at all, Ezra," the Marquise insisted. "Your help is needed for all those reasons. However, there are those, Prince Kaelen's court in particular, who are not convinced that Norsunder has enlisted the Brotherhood of the Damned as their avant-garde against the allied countries. Kaelen is prepared to agree with us, and to persuade his people to join us in our efforts against them, but we need to give him proof and show him that Remalna is united."

Elestra put a hand to her heart then slid it down to her protruding belly. She took a breath to calm herself, and took a sip of her tea. "Ezra, this isn't just a battle on water we're waging. It's political, too. We all—my parents, Flauvic, Alec, and I—were hoping that you will attend to convince Prince Kaelen of our seriousness on the issue. You won't have to be nice to Alec, but at least be civil. Do be friendly with Kaelen, answer all his questions, tell him about your experience with the Brotherhood, and try to persuade him that the support of Sartor and our other allies is needed. And, if it makes you feel better, Thanyl Keriam is going to be there, as well. He's been a longtime friend of Alec's, and it won't be strange for the three of you to be seen together since you sailed together on your last mission. So please, Ezra, come?"

Ezra smoothed a hand over her hair, and sighed. She shook her head. "All right, I'll go. But I want you to know, I hate being manipulated."

Elestra chuckled. "I know, but you're needed, so I pulled the dramatic card and used it. But, I promise, if you attend, I'll find a way for you to be called away early so that you don't have to spend the entire night in a situation you obviously find uncomfortable. Deal?"

"Deal," she agreed.

"Good. Now let's enjoy our breakfast. We'll put off discussing clothes and manners for the party until after we've eaten."

Ezra slumped back into the cushions. She wondered how life got so complicated. She was born on a vineyard, raised on the sea, and expected to either be run through by a cutlass or hung. Never did Ezra think she would end up caught in the snare of world politics. If she could go back two years knowing what she knew now and given the choice between helping the royals and swinging, she thought she might choose the noose.

&&&

Alec pulled on his restrictive high collar, wiggling a finger between the stiff fabric and his neck to create some breathing room. The fashions had evolved halfway through his parents' reign, and formal wear now constituted shirt and trousers, a fitted vest, and a long coat of heavy fabric. The minimal lace trimmings still adorned the neck and wrists.

"What do you think?" he asked his pet dog, Ash. The large, grey and white hunting dog which had been seated on its haunches beside him yawned. Alec laughed, turned to regard his reflection in the full-length mirror for a final inspection then said, "And I thought the embroidery was interesting." Referring to the embroidered silk vest his youngest sister had ensorcelled for him as a birthday present, claiming that it was as impenetrable as chain mail.

He bent over to scratch the hound behind the ears. After a murmured, "I'll see you later," he straightened, and cast a quick glance around his bedroom. Then he strode out of his suite and headed for the Queen's Gardens.

&&&

The setting summer sun cast a reddish glow on everything its fading rays touched. Servants were already scurrying about lighting glowglobes and making last minute adjustments to the buffet tables. The guests were starting to arrive, Ezra and Keriam among them.

"I feel like a spy," muttered Ezra under her breath ducking her head for the umpteenth time to keep her face within the shadow of her hat's narrow brim.

"A spy?" queried Keriam with amusement. He stood at ease, his hands clasped behind his back, his feet a shoulder's width apart.

"Yes. A traitor spying on aristos hobnobbing with one another as they nibble insubstantial foods." She hissed in reply, casting a furtive glance around them. "Why are we here so early anyway? There's no one here."

"It's protocol. The lesser nobles arrive first, followed by the higher-ranking counts and dukes, then the Royal family and the honored guests in their company." He glanced down at her, and grinned at the sight of the feathered hat perched on top of her head. It was made of black satin, had a small arched brim, and one side was festooned with a mass of feathers from the darkest green to the palest yellow.

"Let's see, since we're not even the least of the 'lesser nobles' we're here for the opening ceremony, right?" Ezra asked sarcastically, looking up for the briefest moment. A nod from Keriam coupled with a grin made her groan and cover her face with her hands. "Why did I agree to this?" she moaned.

&&&

The party started off without a hitch, and it was obvious that this was no "small welcome back party." It was the annual county fair. Ezra had barely moved from the spot between some potted ferns and a tree bowed with bright pink blooms that she had occupied since the beginning of the evening. Keriam had gone off to get them both something to eat, and it was apparent from the crush of humanity that he would be a while. She leaned against the tree at her back, closed her eyes and breathed in the heady fragrance of its flowers.

"I didn't expect to see you here." came a familiar, cool voice.

Keeping her eyes closed, she groaned inwardly before hesitantly opening them. Sure enough it was the person she'd least wanted to see. _How did I miss his arrival?_ She wondered.

Coaxing her facial muscles into a smile proved harder than she'd expected after today's sword fighting fiasco. His eyes narrowed at her grimace as he took a sip from his wineglass. Drats, she had probably screwed up some rule of protocol without even realizing it.

"The uniform suits you," he said, gesturing to her uniform with his wineglass. It was her turn to regard him through narrowed eyes.

"I like wearing this about as much you liked wearing pirate duds."

"I'm sure," he replied dryly. He handed his empty glass to a passing servant and retrieved two more. Offering her one he continued, "Either way it fits you well and I believe you'll live up to its obligations. And the hat? Very nice."

Her arm extended automatically to claim the proffered glass, but it paused in midair at his compliment. "Are you mocking me?"

"Should I be? No, it was a compliment. Here, take it. Or else I'd end up looking like an idiot." He offered her the wine again.

"You were an idiot to begin with," she retorted accepting the wineglass gingerly, taking care not to touch his hands. She noted idly that he had nice, well-formed hands. Not too big or small. And strong, from the looks of it. But then, I've seen him work and fight, so it shouldn't be much of a surprise.

She avoided eye contact to prevent further conversation, choosing instead to get lost in her own thoughts while the sounds of polite chitchat and strains of melody from the string quartet drifted over her. This activity lasted but an instant before his annoying voice pierced her consciousness yet again.

"Ezranya Fyn, may I present to you His Royal Highness Crown Prince Kaelen-dei Landis of Sartor. Kaelen, Ezranya Fyn, former captain of the Valiant and current recruit of the Remalnan army."

A young man with curling brown hair and merry blue eyes smiled at her. He was about half a head shorter than the prince but broader of chest. "So you're the pirate princess Elestra was talking about!" he exclaimed. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Ezra smiled weakly. She spied Keriam a short distance away, a saucer of pastries in hand. Hoping to enlist his help in rescuing her from this uncomfortable situation she focused all her mental faculties on sending him a plea for help via extra sensory perception. His only indication of having 'heard' her was a slight nod of his head and a terse smile before leaving altogether. Aghast, she felt her jaw fall open.

"Mistress Fyn?" asked the Crown Prince.

"Oh, um… the pleasure is all mine." Ezra fumbled for what to do. Bow? Curtsy? Offer to shake hands? She didn't know, so she simply touched her fingertips to the brim of her hat and gave a deep nod.

"That may not seem like much, Kaelen, but Mistress Fyn doesn't bend her neck to just anyone," Alaraec said.

"I shall take it as the deepest compliment then," the Sartoran Prince said, and saluted by touching his brow since he was without a hat.

Ezra mentally winced. She was botching things up already. "My apologies, Your Highness. I don't really know what I'm doing, or what I should be doing."

"You are not used to genuflecting," he observed, his boyish eyes showing a depth of wisdom. "Your pride won't let you. In most it is most unflattering behavior, but you carry it well. A princess should never have to bow—even a pirate princess."

Ezra could not suppress her smirk. "They should have warned you, Your Highness, flattery doesn't work on me."

"Then I withdraw my statement," he apologized with mock-seriousness. "But come, you must tell me all about you. I'm desperate to know everything about your life. Start at the part where you became a pirate and go from there."

Ezra glanced at Alec with a raise of her eyebrows as Kaelen bent his head to partake of a cake on the saucer he held in his hand. Is he serious?

Unfortunately, the Prince quirked a brow in response.

She cleared her throat and began to tell Prince Kaelen about her grandfather's pirate career first as a ship's carpenter and working his way up in rank and finally taking the Fearless when his former captain staged a coup on Tourmaline Island and became a baron, and then how she came to live with her grandpa after her parents were killed. She told him about her "uncles." She recounted the death of one dear man when she was eleven, and how the whole crew, including she, got a star tattooed over their hearts in remembrance. She left out all mention of Willem.

She soon had an audience of nobles, but she ignored them as she concentrated on the Sartoran prince's questions.

"What was the worst part of being a pirate?" Kaelen asked.

"The food," Ezra answered honestly. "We would be out at sea for months sometimes without docking. By then we were eating after dark without light just so we didn't have to see what was crawling in our food. Dita did what she could with spices and pickling, but a pirate ends up eating more weevils than grits before they hit land again. Grandpa was careful to keep oranges and lemons in stock to keep scurvy away, but they went moldy after a time. Everyone rejoiced when we hit land long enough to get a real meal and restock."

"I can imagine," he murmured, glancing down at his half-eaten cake.

His face briefly twisted in disgust, and Ezra laughed. "Now you see why pirates fight so hard when they attack. If they don't take your money, they don't eat."

"That hardly means I plan on allowing my ships to be sacked, Captain," Prince Kaelen said in all seriousness.

"Never said you should. What fun would it be for them if you just gave up?"

His face brightened again. "I suppose that's why pirates stay at it, eh? The chase, the adventure. What was the best part of piracy?"

Ezra opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She thought back over the seventeen years she spent on a pirate ship and couldn't remember a time when she asked herself why she did it. Being a pirate what simply what she was. It was what she grew up with. She never considered not being a pirate, and that was one of the reasons she had such a difficult time adjusting to being landlocked.

"The best part? The…the freedom, I suppose," she decided. "But it's a double-edged blade at best. Most often you're bored out of your head during long days on the water with nothing to do and no one but the same twenty or thirty people for company, and they're just as bored as you are. Part of a captain's job is to keep the crew busy enough that they won't mutiny or start fighting each other, and that means that you spend most of your days coiling rope, mending canvas, swabbing the decks, mending cracks with pitch, and keeping the bilge from filling knee-deep with water.

"It also means that you only really know a handful of people your whole life. You do get close to those people, though. They're your family, your closest friends, occasionally your lovers." She licked her lips when she touched too close to her still-healing heart. "It also drives wedges between you and those you love on land. Grandpa's need for freedom meant that he had to be apart from my grandmother and mother."

"It is worth it, right?" Kaelen asked, his illusions visibly crumbling.

Ezra smiled at him. "My grandpa thought so."

That seemed to content him, but he changed the subject slightly before more of his ideas about the high adventure of a pirate's life were shattered. "Alec, you and the Captain here were on a mission together once, correct? How was that?"

Alec considered the most diplomatic way of phrasing his answer. He caught Ezra's challenging expression, and raised his chin. "It was unique. The days were long, but I found that there was a lot to learn. I met a few…colorful people. Captain Caelron Nahauque, for one. Speaking of which: Mistress Fyn, have you had much contact with your old friend of late?"

Ezra's eyes narrowed. "No, I haven't."

"Such a shame. You two were so close."

"Stuff it, Rider."

The nobles who were assembled around the group drew in sharp breaths. Kaelen raised his brows. "My, you are fearless, aren't you?"

Alec smirked, suddenly realizing that he took a perverse pleasure in antagonizing Ezra. If she could, and obviously would, do it, so could he. "She's called me much worse, I assure you."

"Why did she call you Rider?" a fluting feminine voice asked from the crowd.

Ezra looked to her left and saw a slim, doll-featured lady whose red hair was partially coiled around her head in a jewel and flower bedecked crown, and the rest curled over her shoulder and nearly to her knees. She was ethereally beautiful, and Ezra thought she recognized her from somewhere.

Alec braced himself for Ezra's inevitable remark, and answered, "It was a nickname given to me by a few of Mistress Fyn's compatriots from aboard the Fearless."

Sure to form, Ezra snorted and looked back over at him. "You going to tell them how you got that nickname?"

"I was attempting to save your good name, Captain," he rebutted, "and not insinuate any misconduct on either of our parts."

A few poorly disguised snickers in their audience told him how well he had accomplished his stated goal.

Ezra smirked right back into his cocky face. "You can go ahead and say it. Remember where I grew up: there's not a much you could say that I haven't heard or would embarrass me."

"However, there are others present who don't have such a strong fortitude."

"That's their problem." She shrugged and shook her hair over her shoulders, the beads of a few small braids clicking as she did. "But so be it. I'm sure you know what's best for your people."

"I don't think I've ever seen two people who more enjoy getting under each others' skins as you two do," Prince Kaelen observed. "It's truly astonishing." He chuckled good-naturedly.

"I'm afraid this is nothing," a voice from the outskirts of the circle piped up. Ezra looked out and saw the man she'd shot in the arm more than a year ago, Rider's cousin, walking near. What was his name? N…Nadav! That was it.

He stepped up to her and smiled. "Captain, lovely to see you again. How's the head?"

"Too thick for long term damage from the likes of you. How's the arm?"

"I do get a twinge from time to time," he admitted. "Now, then! I was sent to tell our esteemed Captain Ezranya that she must leave this felicitous occasion due to prior responsibilities."

_Finally! _she thought. Out loud, she said, "How awful that I have to leave just when I was having fun. What a disappointment. Show me the way out."

Nadav swept a bow and motioned away. Ezra tipped her hat to Princes Kaelen and Alaraec, and left. As soon as they were out of hearing range of she touched Nadav's arms. "The young lady with red hair. I think I remember her from my last visit. Who is she?"

"Hm? Ah, yes! She was dancing with Alec at the ball while you were hiding behind a shrubbery. That's the Marquise Cordalyse Avalnae."

"The Fearless put in on the southern continent a few times," Ezra recalled. "I remember there was a shop that sold dolls. One of them had a face just like hers."

"She is lovely." Nadav replied shortly as he guided her to the fringes of the party. He bowed when she said that she could find her own way out and left. She stared after him for a while, and wondered at his terse reply about Marquise Cordalyse. He was another enigma in this family that she had yet to figure out.

Ezra scanned the faces as she left. She spotted Keriam near a cluster of other military men, and made her way toward him. He smiled at her when she got near.

"How was your interview with Crown Prince Kaelen?"

"Just short of a disaster," she said. "Why did you leave?"

"It looked like you wanted me to," he protested.

"No, I wanted you to come save me from myself. I had no idea how to act. I wanted someone who understood all that protocol to be there with me."

Keriam apologized. He never thought that she would need his help for anything. She was so independent. "And I'm flattered that you wanted me there. You have my word of honor that I shall be there for you from now on."

"Thanks, but I'm going now. Elestra said that she would find a way for me to leave early, and I received my summons to freedom," she explained. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Rise early enough to meet me in the practice courts before you begin your drills, and you shall," he promised.

&&&

Alec watched his cousin lead Ezranya away and gave a mental shake of his head. She couldn't leave fast enough. But at least Kaelen met her and would hopefully be more receptive to his urgings that Sartor join in the fight against the Brotherhood as the first wave of another Norsundrian attack. He looked over at the younger prince and found Kaelen staring after Ezra with a befuddled expression on his face.

"She is an original," Kaelen said. "If only she were nobility. I don't doubt that she would be issuing more than one change in policy if she had the power to do so."

"Life, let us hope not," Tara Savona murmured. "I can only imagine what she would do with too much power."

"She was very bold, was she not?" Lady Cordalyse asked. "I could not imagine saying such things to royalty. How _ever _did you get along with her while you worked together, Alaraec?" Her fan fluttered in the Innocently Inquisitive mode.

"When we were not yelling into the other's face and exchanging threats, we got along well enough," Alec admitted. "She understands the practices of a pirate crew better than those who hunt them. She and her men had much to teach me and mine. You should ask her about those recent attacks near the Sartori strongholds, Kaelen. I think she would have some valuable insights."

"Oh, no, you are still trying to convince me that a league of pirates has joined Norsunder in their campaign against us." Kaelen shook his head. "This is supposed to be an informal occasion, Alec—though we both know how often that actually happens at Court. Why don't we have dancing?"

"I shall have the musicians start up," Alec said.

Kaelen smiled. He turned to Alec's lovely cousin from Tlanth and offered his arm. "Lady Ranisia, may I have the honor?"

Kitten took a breath, and Alec noticed the way her eyes widened briefly in surprise and her petite frame stiffened with apprehension for a fraction of a second. However, no one else seemed to notice anything but the smile she returned. "I would be most honored, Your Highness."

Alec could almost feel the encroaching circle of coronet hunters coming to flatter him into offering them a dance. He fixed a mild expression on his face complete with a small smile and resigned himself. He should probably choose the Marquise Cordalyse. Everyone seemed to expect them to make something of themselves.

Tara deftly stepped in. "Alec, I simply must have the first dance! You know you are my favorite cousin, and I've missed you so these last months. You must tell me everything that you've seen. Lady Cordalyse, I am _sure_ my brother would be more than thrilled to escort you in the first dance. Isn't that right, Nadav?"

The newly returned lord raised a quizzical brow in confusion. "Would I what, buttercup?"

Tara glared at her brother. She hated that nickname. "Dance with Cordalyse."

Nadav's gaze swooped over to the lovely, auburn-haired woman. His brow pinched, and he cleared his throat. "Of course. My lady, would you do me the honor of joining me in the first dance?"

Cordalyse appeared to fight a pout before she accepted his offer. "If it would please you to be my partner, my lord." She dipped into a curtsy before placing her hand in his extended one.

Tara smiled after them, and slid her hand through her cousin's arm.

"What are you up to?" Alec whispered. "It doesn't appear that he likes her, and you pushed them together to what? Get to me?"

She rolled her light blue eyes. "Don't be silly, Alec. I love you, but not like that. And what do you mean he dislikes her? I hate to say it, but I know my brother better than you do in this case. He's over-the-moon for her. He just doesn't want anyone else to know since it looks like she only has her sights set on future kings, that calculating little thing."

"Oh, yes, quite," he teased her as they took their places in the dance. "I must say, my dear, your sudden generosity concerning Nadav gives one pause to consider what your ulterior motives are."

"Don't look at me like that," she chided. "But if you must know, I dislike the idea of her wearing your mother's crown or that of Sartor's Queen. Not that I think she actually has a chance with you, of course. I've seen the looks you try to hide." She smiled at Alec's chagrined expression. "When she realizes the futility of her endeavors, she will try for the other eligible men. If Nadav gets her out of the way I won't have to worry about the stunning little daylily getting in my way."

"It must run in the Chamadis bloodline," Alec mused. "When it comes to love and hunting for marital prospects, you are truly diabolical."

"It's something we excel at," Tara gloated.

"Be careful that your schemes don't come back to haunt you, cousin," Alec warned.

"Be careful that I don't decide to do you the same favor I do my brother, Alec dear," came her sugary reply.

&&&

A/N: You know what to do. It's almost protocol. D


	6. Comoara

Gypsy Queen

Chapter 6: Comoara

A trumpet blast woke her up from an already fitful sleep. Ezra reached for the hilt of her knife she always put under her pillow before she realized where she was. It was the first day of her training. For a moment she went limp and groaned into her pillow that was too hard and lumpy last night, but now seemed like the softest in the world.

"Up and at 'em! Three minutes to dress in fatigues and line up outside!"

Ezra's quick response time was softened by living on the vineyard. It used to take her almost no time to dress and get on the _Fearless's_ deck if there was a storm or another ship on the horizon. This morning, her body felt like dead weight as she dressed in the breeches, tunic, and boots that had been issued to her as a trainee.

When she finally made it outside, she was only second to last in line. The male cadets were lined up outside the barracks across the wide, cobbled lane. There were matching lines on either side of Ezra's own and on the one directly across. Between the barracks, three men and two women stood shouting. A second trumpet sound cut all talking off, and one of the men took charge of the proceedings.

"You're the newest recruits into the Remalnan army. Congratulations. We'll begin every morning with a run at first gold. Go down around the lake, out the east gate, follow the wall around to the west gate, inside, and back here. Stragglers will run it again. Go."

No one needed a second invitation. As one, the entire company began their run. Ezra kept to the middle of the group for anonymity. Survival instinct told her that standing out before she knew exactly what she had gotten herself into was unwise. Much to her embarrassment, she began to flag early on. Anger at her own weakness pushed her on, refusing to fall any further back than she was. By the time she spied the lake, her sides ached and her lungs felt like they were being eaten by a cold fire, but she remained with the group.

The run was more pain than she remembered subjecting herself to in a long while. It should have prepared her for the rest of the morning. She spent the next bell passing balls from one person to another down the line. No ordinary balls, these. No, they were weighted, and as soon as she passed one to the person on her right she had to whip around and take the next from the person on her left.

After a short break for breakfast, they went on to combat drills. There was much running in place, falling to the ground and rolling, and crawling on her belly. And all of that was before first green.

At lunch, Ezra made the mistake of groaning aloud. One of the trainers—Sergeant Major Something-or-other—stepped right in front of her and sneered down. "I suppose this is a little more discipline than pirates are used to. There won't be anymore taking of what you want, now. You have to earn it."

"Don't much have a problem with discipline. Unless of course I broke some law with my groan there." Ezra stood up and looked him in the eye. "And I've always earned everything I got. Even when I stole it."

The Sergeant stepped toe-to-toe with her. "And tonight you've earned yourself kitchen duty."

"I know my way around a potato." She smiled and tossed him a wink before sitting down.

"That just earned you a fortnight of kitchen duty."

"Your wish is my command." She rested her chin on her hand propped on the table.

"A month."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Two months."

Ezra bit her lip to keep from saying anything else, though she was tempted. She could have told him that intimidation didn't work with her, never had. Worse for him because he gave her a duty that she enjoyed. As a little girl, she loved helping her mother cook, and later Dita aboard the _Fearless_.

The Sergeant didn't look satisfied, but as she remained silent, and even sat up straight with her hands in her lap, he continued his rounds. Ezra rolled her eyes at his back before she began eating again. She heard the whispers around her, but she ignored them.

&&&

"She's willful. She's insubordinate. And she's mouthy."

Alaraec breathed in deeply through his nose at Sgt. Major Tedescun's report of how Ezra Fyn fared her first week as a trainee. He was currently in a meeting with three of the admirals who would be heading the attack against the Brotherhood of the Damned, as well as Nadav as his head of intelligence, and Prince Kaelen. One of the admirals' attendants was a familiar face, as well – the ex-pirate, Costran.

"I was not asking about her attitude," Alec said. "I am already aware of it. I wished to know how she is holding up in training. Is she keeping up? Are there any problems with her development?"

Tedescun sniffed. "I wish I could say otherwise, but she has kept up with the other trainees. She doesn't shine out, but she hasn't fallen behind, either."

She was hiding herself in the throng, Alec realized. Ezra had the character of one that others turned to, a distinction and authority that, he observed, even those older and more experienced than she would defer to. If she was remaining within the multitude, it was likely because she chose to rather than her mediocrity. If she were motivated she would no doubt push herself beyond her own limits despite her petite stature.

"Has she been given a sword yet?" he asked. "I know procedure is that a plebe not be given a real weapon until he or she has mastered the techniques with a wooden sword, but we have little time to follow procedure with the Captain."

"Your Highness, with all due respect," Tedescun said, "I don't trust her—not personally, and certainly not with a sword."

Alec nearly pulled rank. He understood the concerns of his advisors and the training officer as he had the same ones himself, but if Ezranya Fyn had to go through formal training—which she truly didn't need nor would be thankful for; and which he had argued with his father about—she needed an accelerated itinerary. Shuffling at the back of the room caught his attention. It caught the notice of Admiral Jenks, as well.

"Costran, you're fidgeting. I've only known you three months, and already I know that you only fidget when you have something to say."

"Yes, sir."

"So, say it, already," Admiral Jenks commanded.

Costran looked at Alec for a nod before he cleared his throat, and stepped forward. "Ezra is a lot of things. Most of them you said. She doesn't like taking orders from anyone, even her grandfather, and never has. But she is one of the most loyal and trustworthy people you will ever meet if she's given a reason to be." He met Alec's gaze. "She doesn't like doing something just because. But if you give her a purpose, she won't waver. She'll see you through to the end."

Prince Kaelen leaned forward. "So you're saying that simply commanding her to come to Athanarel and be a part of this mission is not purpose enough? She is here."

"Aye—I mean, yes, Your Highness, but she won't stay here for long. My guess is that another week of this and Ezra will pack up and head back to the vineyard. In her mind, she has no reason to stay."

"Then what do you suggest?" Alec asked.

I don't rightly know, Your Highness," Costran admitted. "But you need to give her a stake in this fight, or she's going to walk out on you."

"How did you get her to cooperate the first time?" Kaelen asked.

"We held her grandfather and half her crew hostage, and threatened to hang them if she didn't cooperate," Alec said. "But after she discovered that one of the men aboard the _Red Lantern_ was a member of the raiding party that killed her parents, she was completely devoted to seeing them stopped."

"Don't suppose we'll get lucky and have another familial connection this time, will we?" Nadav said. "Perhaps we ought to do as I suggested in the first place, and bring Ezra into these meetings. It will make her feel like part of the process."

Alec nearly groaned aloud, and he was fairly certain that he caught the admirals hiding smiles at the same memories of the last time he and Ezra tried to work together to create a strategy.

"Why don't we continue to gather information for now, and when we get closer to knowing where they'll attack, we'll call in Captain Ezranya." He sighed. "Until then, Sergent Tendescun, please work in some of the more advanced techniques into her training. And give her a sword; she already knows how to use one."

"And a bow, too," Nadav reminded him, rubbing his arm at the memory of Ezra shooting an arrow into it.

"Bow and arrows are illegal in the Covenant with the Hill Folk," Tendescun said.

"Yes, but their dashed handy out on the water," replied Nadav, "Perhaps we should be training all our navy personnel to use them."

Kaelen nodded. "It would help even the field a bit. Or the ocean, as it were."

"I shall look into it," Alec said. In the meantime, he needed to think of a way to keep Ezra invested in the outcome of this enterprise, or his parents' grand scheme would deflate around them. Strange that he found he cared.

&&&

Two weeks of torture made Ezra more short-tempered than usual. Her fellow cadets seemed content enough, but they had chosen to enlist whereas she had been press-ganged. Every day that bugle woke her before dawn for a long morning run. Her stamina had built to the point where she was merely dying for air by the end as opposed to dying completely. After the run came strength exercises, then battle performance which included a lot of ducking and rolling and shield positions. Occasionally they were handed a pretend weapon to practice with, but that was only two or three times the entire past two weeks.

The afternoons were no better because on top of more strength training, and more dirt diving, they went through the same endless patterns of marching in line and staying together as a unit. None of these would actually come in handy to her on a ship, she ventured, but another word to her training officer and she would never leave the communal kitchens set up for the cadets and officers separate from the kitchen run by palace staff. Ezra found that even she could get tired of peeling and shelling vegetables for over two hundred a night especially when the others on kitchen patrol wouldn't exchange a word with her.

Midway through the second week, Ezra was taken aside and put in a more advanced group that was going through sword drills.

"I've been ordered to speed your training up," Sgt. Major Tendescun informed her. "If I had my way, you would never get steel in your hands, but they seem to want you combat ready as soon as possible. Every afternoon at second green you will report to this sword court for lessons. After you finish, you will report back to me before you begin work in the kitchen. Understood?"

She was sorely tempted to say 'aye,' but she had learned fast that the Sergeant didn't like the term. She didn't want more time in the kitchen. She actually had plans of her own that she wanted to put underway, and there was no way she could do that if she spent all of her time in the kitchens. "Yes, sir."

While it seemed like a reprieve when she first arrived, it turned out that most of the other trainees in her class had never held anything larger than a hunting knife before, and the instructor began at such a remedial level that Ezra soon wished she were back learning the proper position to hold a small shield in when facing pike carriers as opposed to long swords. The instructor tried to correct the way Ezra held her sword, but her grip had worked just fine for her for more than a decade and she told the woman so.

"You are holding your sword like it's broader than it is."

"That would be because my sword _is_ usually broader than this one. Ma'am."

"But this particular one is not. No need to clutch it so."

Ezra loosened her grip a tiny bit, and moved her fingers just enough that it resembled how the others held their swords. It felt wrong in her hand.

"That is not the pattern I just showed you," the swordswoman scolded moments later.

"It's the pattern I first learned and fight best in, ma'am."

"Then perhaps you should broaden your range and learn a new style."

Every after noon was a battle with that woman. Ezra didn't see why she had to change her fighting techniques to please them. What she learned and invented in the past got her through fine. She doubted any of what they forced her to conform to here would be of use in the future.

The close of sword practice on the last day of the week before the day of rest provided some room for Ezra to be herself. The weapons mistress, Major Newbeth, opened a chest during practice and pulled out two unstrung bows and a dozen arrows.

"I understand that you're quite proficient with these. We Remalnans don't use them due to the Covenant made with the Hill Folk. However, they've proved useful in the past. Why don't you show us how it's done?"

Ezra's brows rose. She was actually being allowed to show them that she was capable of using a weapon all on her own without their guidance? "Of course."

She stepped up and tested each of the bows strength. One was much too stiff for her, but the other two bent well enough. She chose the one that fit her grip best, and took the bowstring Newbeth offered her. A moment later, she did a few test pulls with the string alone before she picked up an arrow.

"Where do you want me to hit?"

The Major scanned the surrounding courtyard. "There. That post next to the doorway."

Ezra pulled the butt of the arrow back to the corner of her mouth, sighted, and released. The point buried in the ornate head of the post. A murmur of approval flowed behind her. She picked up the next arrow and buried that one just below the first, and so on until the body of the post held a line of arrows protruding from it.

"Very nicely done," Newbeth commented.

Ezra lowered the bow. "They're pretty useful on a ship. You can stay hidden in the rigging or crow's nest and aim down at those below you. You need good aim, though. On one of the southern continents, there's a giant grassland where huge animals are hunted with bow and arrow. During one of our stops, we met with the tribesmen who live there, and they taught me how to shoot."

"Perhaps you could give us a quick lesson?"

She hesitated. "I'm not sure there are enough bows to go around. A bow needs to fit the person who uses it. If someone strong gets a bow that's too pliant, they'll never learn accuracy. If they can't even bend the bow, they'll never shoot."

"I'm sure some of these bows will fit a few of your fellow cadets, and we can share. When we next meet, I'll be sure to have a selection that we can choose from. We'll alternate between bow practice with sword practice twice a week. Just because we're bound not to use a weapon doesn't mean that we shouldn't know how to, don't you agree, Cadet Fyn?"

"I look forward to it," she said.

&&&

Alec nearly dismissed the two military instructors without asking anything, fearing the worst, but he asked anyway. "And how has she done this week?"

Sergeant Tendescun huffed, but Major Newbeth smiled as she gave her report.

"Ezra Fyn is just as I was warned. She is very sure of herself and her abilities. She does not like to take any kind of direction. But I have found that she responds well to interactive learning."

"Interactive learning?" Alec asked.

"Yes. I asked her to demonstrate her bow skills. I realize that as a native to Remalna, I don't have much to compare her to, but I believe she is very good. When I asked if she would teach the rest of us how to use the bow, she was very professional in her assessment of the students and the supply that I had on hand. I suggested that we alternate weapons during our practice, and she was very receptive to it. She was much calmer and focused for the remainder of the drill time we had."

"You see, Your Highness?" Tendescun said. "She's already marring the ethics of this institution. We swore to uphold the Covenant, and she has our military training with forbidden weapons."

"As I told my students," Newbeth said, "just because we don't use them is no excuse not to know how to use them. It is a mutually beneficial arrangement, and it is accomplishing the goals that you, Your Highness, gave me. If we continue to talk down to her, treat her as any bit less than us, then she will balk. We must be willing to give if we hope to tap her full potential."

Yes, he knew. Ezra was not meant for the usual military matrix. If they tried to break her down, degrade her in anyway, even if it was ultimately to make her stronger and more devoted to the group than to herself, she would mutiny. After looking over the latest intelligence Nadav's spies had gathered, he was beginning to agree that they needed Ezra's help on this as much as they did the first time. And he needed her to be herself, a pirate, not a soldier.

"Well done. Use whatever methods seem to be working. We need her. And I believe that we are going to need her soon."

&&&

Ezra walked back to the barracks slowly after weapons practice. She was glad to have the peace and quiet before she had to report to the kitchens. Today had been nearly bearable now that she proved she wasn't an idiot.

"Ezra!"

She stopped and looked around for the source of the voice. "Keriam?"

She spotted him down the road headed toward her. His smile brought an answering one to her lips, and she matched his striding pace to meet him more quickly. "It seems like years! You've no idea how good it is to see you."

"And you. Are they working you hard?"

"I never imagined there could be anything worse than the time we got stranded on Tiiji for a month after a typhoon. I was wrong. I have never been so tired, or ached so much."

"I remember my training days. It isn't something I hope to ever repeat. I truly do not envy you."

"I would give anything to have some time away," she said, "even for a few hours."

Keriam frowned. "That's not allowed. I mean, technically, after all your duties are done, the time is yours, but the unspoken assumption is that you remain in the barracks."

Ezra grinned at him. "If it's unspoken, I'm guessing it's also unwritten, thereby not making it clearly understood by all. I have to go to the kitchens, but meet me at the Western Gate at second blue. I should be finished by then. I promise you, you won't regret it. Please?"

"Ezra…."

She kissed his cheek before running towards the kitchen building. "Good! I'll see you there."

&&&

Keriam did not know what force compelled him to meet Ezra Fyn at the Western Gate at her specified time. She had the uncanny ability of persuading him to go against his own rational thinking. Perhaps that was what he liked about her, her spontaneity. He never knew what to expect from her.

For example, the kiss she gave him earlier in the day was completely uncalled for. It was a friendly peck on the cheek to be sure, and there was no rule against military personnel forming relationships of the romantic kind with each other; but it was not encouraged so as to maintain troop unity. Then there was the time she nearly skewered him on the practice courts. On second thought, maybe she did not really like him after all. He scratched absently at his beard and grinned at the thought.

"Keriam!"

He looked up to see her striding purposefully towards him. She had released her hair from the mandatory coronet, and changed out of her uniform and into a well worn coat in her usual flamboyant style, reminiscent of her days as the captain of _The Valiant_.

"It's Thanyl when we're off duty." He smiled then said, "I'm surprised that you can still afford to be so well turned out on a military salary," he said, eyeing her colorful bandanna, sharp feathered hat, and a blouse that frothed with lace at the collar and cuffs.

"I got this on Rider's account way back when we were chasing the Brotherhood. Besides, I thought I'd blend in better out of a uniform," she replied.

"Actually, few ladies of gentle breeding dress in shirt and trousers. Granted, the fashions may have changed and reverted back to the times where dresses were modest and high-waisted; but most women dress in trousers only for combat or riding." He indicated the civilians around them with a nod of his head.

Sure enough, Ezra found herself surrounded by females clad in dresses of soft silk, rich velvet, sturdy linen or comfortable cotton. The dresses tended to be simple in design, cinched below the bosom with a square, round, or scooped neckline; long sleeves cinched at wrist or arm-fitting; and an ankle-length skirt that swirled and billowed as the wearer moved. Those who could afford it adorned their dresses with gems or pearls, cunningly embroidered with silver or gold thread. As it was early autumn, many wore long hooded cloaks to keep warm.

"Ah! But I'm not a lady of gentle breeding," retorted Ezra with a grin. "Besides, trousers are much easier to move about in. However, I'll concede that those dresses look comfortable enough."

"A fashion helmed by the Queen herself."

Ezra almost blurted out that Keriam seemed to idolize the Queen, for he mentioned her only in praise, but kept her mouth shut as she had no wish to offend him. Instead she asked, "Why did she change the fashion?"

Keriam, always the diplomat, replied, "Fashions, like matters of taste, are constantly in flux. I wouldn't presume to know why her majesty took to dressing in the style of her forbears but the present fashion flatters her petite form."

Ezra shrugged. "I still prefer trousers."

There was a lull in conversation as they strolled casually down the busy streets of Athanarel. Ezra noted that Keriam's – no, Thanyl's, hand rested lightly on his sword hilt at all times. He seemed to spend more time watching her wide-eyed exploration of the hawkers' wares than doing any such perusal himself. She rationalized that he had probably been Rider's unofficial bodyguard for so long that he had grown accustomed to having his eye on someone at all times.

The rhythmic beats and chimes of drums and cymbals drew their attention to a large crowd of people gathered around numerous multi-colored caravans. The mobile homes seemed to make up a city from an exotic faraway land that drew the stares of those native to Remalna.

Like an excited child Ezra grabbed Thanyl's free hand and set off at a jog towards the centre of attraction. Easing their way through the crowd, they found themselves audience to a sword dance performed by two swarthy men. A sheen of perspiration glistened on their bare torsos as they waved their swords to the curious beat. A sword in each hand, they jumped, leaped, and somersaulted into the air; bodies twisting, arms weaving, and legs kicking. Occasionally, the swords would meet in a clash sounding like symbol chimes against the percussive drumbeat. The crowd gasped when one man's sword missed opening his opponent's chest by a hair's breadth. It was a deadly dance of grace and agility, where every flick of the wrist was controlled to the minutest degree, yet an untamed element of danger lurked in every movement.

Watching them, Ezra was reminded of the favor she owed Elestra, and made a mental note to brush up on her own sword dancing skills at the next available opportunity.

Applause rang out as the two young men took their bows, hands – still holding their metal foils, crossed over their heaving chests, and their dark tousled hair coming loose from leather thongs. Laughing, the more striking of the two with his ebony hair and eyes, extended an arm to introduce the next act while his partner collected coins from their audience. "Fair ladies and great gentlemen," his clear baritone silenced the crowd, "It is with great pleasure that I present to you Master Dragomir, Fire-breather of the Flacara Tribe!"

Another round of applause as Master Dragomir proceeded to thrill the audience with his daring fire-breathing feats. Not only did he breathe fire, however, he held it in the palm of his hand, extinguished it with a bat of an eyelid, and made his friends' ordinary metal foils blaze in a reddish gold glow.

Ezra was utterly delighted by this display of artistry and flame, letting out whoops of astonishment at the appropriate moment, and clapping till her palms stung from the ring of her applause. Keriam watched her unadulterated joy with amusement, his grin hidden by his well-trimmed moustache. After tossing a few coins into the performer's proffered cup Ezra turned to Keriam and exclaimed, "Wasn't that just the most amazing thing you've ever seen?"

Keriam nodded, noting the faint flush of her cheeks, her glazed eyes, and her slightly parted lips. "Come, the city has much more to offer." The sun had passed its zenith and was slowly but surely making its descent across the skies.

"Could we not watch them for a little longer?" asked Ezra, turning back to see the crowd dispersing. "I've never seen a gypsy tribe perform for a crowd before."

"Never? And you a gypsy yourself?" Keriam raised his brows in question.

Indignation flashed in her pale green eyes, "Whenever the crew harbored with the gypsies, it was always away from cities. Besides, I rarely got off the ship and I'm not a full-blooded gypsy so there are some things I'm simply not familiar with. Furthermore, a whole tribe of gypsies are hard to come by as it – are you laughing at me?" Ezra crossed her arms across her chest and huffed.

"I'm sorry. You're adorable when you're angry, especially when you pout." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Keriam could have slapped himself.

"Now that's a first! Whoa!" She took a step backwards to eye him critically, and ended up tripping over a tree root. His hands shot out to steady her, firmly grasping her by the shoulders. "Thanks," she said as he released his hold on her.

Before he could put an appropriate distance between them, she grabbed two fistfuls of his tunic, and tugged till his face was mere inches from hers. Looking him in the eye, she added mock threateningly, "Don't you ever, and I mean _ever_, call me adorable or sweet or anything vaguely synonymous with those words again."

"Why not?" He cocked his head to one side, hands resuming their usual positions, one by his side and the other on his sword hilt.

"It'll destroy my reputation. I didn't last this long on a pirate ship by being 'adorable'. And I'll bet you military types don't fancy your soldiers being 'adorable' either."

She let go after her little tirade, and smoothed out the wrinkles on his tunic with her hands. Spinning on her toe she set off at a brisk trot towards the brightly colored caravans calling over her shoulder, "Come on!"

The gypsies were a people who liked big crowds and the hustle and bustle of the city. However, they did not appreciate the crowds or city life entering their domain. Their sanctuary was a mish mash of caravans, campfires, and tents. Having staked out their temporary home in a large park normally used for market days and such, they eyed any trespassing _gadje_ or outsider, with distrust.

Civilians were tolerated for they made purchases of handicrafts or the Flacara tribe's unique light or heat wands. Unfortunately for Keriam, his green and gold uniform drew menacing stares and even a gob of spit from a wizened old man. Ezra, on the other hand, was welcomed with appreciative whistles from the young male gypsies, a homage she repaid by blowing a kiss in their direction with a laugh; and calls of "Alo comoara!" from the older folks. It was obvious to Keriam that they recognized her as one of their own but judging by their curious gazes, they were puzzled by her _gadje_ dress and the company that she kept.

"What does ' Alo comoara' mean?" asked Keriam, as yet another matronly woman swathed in silk scarves of varying shades of green and purple waved and called out "Comoara mea!"

Waving back enthusiastically, Ezra replied, "'Comoara' is 'darling'. 'Alo comoara' means 'hello, darling'. 'Comoara mea' is 'my darling'."

"Why are they calling you their darling? They don't even know you." He hurried to keep pace with her.

"They're like a big family. Everyone's a father or mother, son or daughter. It's a term of endearment." Another wave and air kiss.

Alert to the growing hostility as they neared the center of the gypsy camp, Keriam suggested that they head back to where they had come from; but Ezra's eye had been drawn to an old woman still of regal bearing seated with her eyes closed before a fire. A sturdy scarf held her silver hair back from a face that had aged with grace, and a frown of concentration etched her brow as her clasped hands pulsed with a golden light. Several pouches containing uncut semi-precious gems were arranged around her in a neat row, and she paid them no heed as they watched her work her magic. A sudden flare of light as bright as a sun beam on a summer's day blinded them for an instant, and they blinked rapidly to rid their vision of dark circles.

The dowager lady's eyelids fluttered open with a start, but instead of being startled by their presence, she looked straight at Ezra and smiled. Then, in a voice both husky and fluting at the same time, she said, "Alo, comoara mea."


	7. Quartz

Gypsy Queen

Chapter 7: Quartz

Ezra replied in the Common Tongue for Keriam's benefit. "May the Spirits guide your way, Grandmother."

"And may your Soul lead you home, little one." The old lady gestured for them to sit across her then she extended a thin hand and traced her fingers along the side of Ezra's face. "So you're one of our own children, comoara?" Her eyes narrowed as she studied Ezra's features for an instant longer in the fading light before snapping her assessing gaze to Keriam.

The officer fidgeted in his seat, unsettled by her scrutiny; but he held those eyes with his own steady ones. He would never find out what she thought of him for she turned back to her task without further acknowledgement.

"Ezra, perhaps we should go," urged Keriam, rising to his feet and dusting off the seat of his pants. "It's getting late, and your commanding officer will notice if you're not back by curfew."

"Wait, I want to see this again!" Ezra pressed closer as the old lady picked a raw clear quartz from one of the pouches, its surface dusty and scratched. She held it in her fist till the same flare of light exploded then faded. When the woman opened her hand, an exquisitely faceted clear quartz sat in the palm of her hand, sparkling like a diamond in the sun. Ezra was awestruck.

"Most impressive, ma'am. Ezra? Can we now go?" asked Keriam again.

"Why don't you go ahead? I'll catch up with you later." She waved him off but he caught her hand in mid-wave and sat back down next to her.

"I think I'm safer with you," he replied dryly, jerking his head in the direction of the young male gypsies eyeing him with distaste.

Ezra squeezed his hand with a grin and added, "Don't worry comoara mea, I'll defend you with my life!" She waved at the young men in the distance with her free hand before returning her attentions to the old lady, who had just completed cutting a smoky quartz.

"Oh, I have a couple of those!" exclaimed Ezra, pointing to the smoky and rose quartzes. The old lady only raised her dark brows in question. After releasing Keriam's hand Ezra proceeded to tug at the silver chain that hung around her neck. Where a pendant should have been were two multi-faceted stones, one a dusty grey and the other a pale pink.

"Let me see, child." The wrinkled but nonetheless slender hand reached out for the gems, squeezing them tightly within her fist as her eyelids fluttered close. Ezra leaned forward as the chain around her neck grew taut. Suddenly, the old woman's eyes flew wide open and she jerked on the chain, pulling Ezra's face towards hers till their noses almost touched.

"Where did you get these?" she demanded, her voice strained. Ezra felt the thin chain cutting into her skin and gasped at the sharp pain.

Keriam had stood and drawn his sword from its scabbard with a _hiss_. The loitering young men upon sensing imminent violence inched forward with daggers and knives. "Hold, you fools!" came the crone's sharp command. The men paused in their tracks at the order and the upheld hand. To Keriam she threatened, "I'll burn you alive before your sword cuts the air you breathe."

"Keriam, don't," said Ezra. To the old lady she said in as steady a voice she could muster, "They belonged to my parents Dathan and Aletya. We lived on a vineyard till the raiders came and killed them both. My grandfather rescued me and salvaged those stones as a keepsake for me."

The stones fell from limp hands and the pressure on Ezra's neck eased. "Aletya... my Aletya." The old woman's eyes shone with unshed tears. "And that would make you Ezranya, yes?"

"It does. How do you know my name?"

"I gave it to you." She pursed her mouth as she looked Ezra over once again in a new light. "You don't remember me at all, do you? No, but why should you? You were barely more than a tot last time we laid eyes on each other. I certainly didn't remember you, for all you look like my Little Bird. My name is Loredana, and I am Lucru Ales of the Gypsies." The pain that lined her face had gone instead a resigned calm had settled upon her small frame. "I also happen to be your grandmother."

She came to her feet and instructed the young men to escort Keriam out of the camp, then to Ezra she said, "Walk with me."

Ezra caught the worried look Keriam sent her way, and tried to smile reassuringly. Her grandmother, the great love of Grandpa Fyn's life, the head of all the Gypsy clans had come to Athanerel-city. Who could have known?

&&&

After Ezra dropped by Keriam's quarters – the man had been restlessly pacing his room since his forced return –to assure him that she had returned to the palace in one piece, Ezra walked through the cleaning frame, feeling the dust and grime of the day's travels lift off her skin. She undressed, leaving only her shirt on then lay down in her cot.

As she tried to fall asleep, her grandmother's words swam in her head. Loredana had thought that she and her parents had been sold into slavery those many years ago. She said they had found no bodies only the burnt ruins of the vineyard, and had believed the worst. To the gypsies, she had said, death was a new life. A life that was freer than the one they had left behind for the Soul could then roam the realm of the Spirits. Captivity was a gypsy's worst nightmare.

Ezra fingered the quartzes that hung just between her breasts as she recalled their earlier conversation. Loredana had cut those gems for her parents as a wedding gift, a blessing of love. She had last seen them when Ezra was four, before she was elected as Lucru Ales, the People's choice as leader of all the gypsy tribes.

"Why didn't you contact Grandfather?" Ezra had asked.

"I tried. But he was so often away at sea, and I was so often roaming the lands looking after my people. He had his duties as I had had mine." Her smile had been melancholic, as if she was remembering the times of her youth. Ever in control, she got back to business, "I trust Fearless Fyn brought you up well? He was always a good man."

"Perhaps you could visit him some time. He lives at a vineyard called _The Port _with some of his old crew," said Ezra, trying to keep up as Loredana kept a brisk pace despite her heavy skirts, her face heavily shadowed by the rapidly setting sun.

_Did she love him still? _Ezra wondered,_ Did she ever love him at all?_

"And you're in the Remalnan Army? I'd expect anything of Fyn but I wouldn't have expected him to walk the straight and narrow." She gave a low laugh.

"We didn't have much of a choice, really. Things are fine as they are. They promised me a captaincy in the Navy once I'm through with the training." Ezra shrugged, not wanting to sound resentful for her current position. Loredana unnerved her because she saw her mother, this woman's daughter, in her. Saw herself in her.

"Who are 'they'?" asked Loredana.

"The Renselaueses. Royal types. They expect the 'your wish is my command' thing so I couldn't really squirm out of it."

"You have the ear of the King?"

Ezra tried imagining ordering King Vidanric about and failed terribly. "No, I don't. I do have the ear of the King's son though." She did not need to know that that ear was used mainly to give the person it was attached to a piece of her mind. Ezra smiled to herself.

"The one dealing with the raiders along the borders?"

"The King has only one son so that's probably him." She didn't know that was what he had been up to when he was away from court. She'd figured that Rider had had enough of fighting the forces of evil for a bit, and had taken refuge in a foreign court drinking expensive wine, bedding exotic ladies, and whatever else princes did when they were away from their capitals.

"Then perhaps you can tell the King through his son that the gypsies are not in league with the raiders. We traverse through numerous kingdoms, and cross many borders doing what we do best – and it is not raiding, pillaging, and raping. We cut gems, we spell pottery, and we entertain. Sometimes we pick a pocket or two but we never kill except in self defense. It is against our Law."

"Why would he think that you're in with the raiders?" Ezra asked. "Has the military been bothering the clans?"

"Not the military, no," her grandmother said. "But there are those who only see what they want and do not ask questions to find the truth. It's an old malady that comes down on our heads from time to time, but lately…there have been incidents. Nothing big as yet. No deaths were caused. But I feel something coming, and I would like you to do something to stop it or stem it if you can."

"When I said I had the ear of the Prince, I didn't mean that he does as I ask," Ezra corrected. "I meant that I've talked to him, and occasionally yelled at him. But I haven't seen him in weeks, nor for nearly two years before that. I'm not sure what I can do to help you."

Loredana stopped and turned to look at her granddaughter. Her mouth pulled tight, and her forehead creased. "I am not asking for help for myself. I am asking you to help your people. You have at least spoken to the Prince, which is more than I have. Do your duty by us; that is all I ask."

Even by this woman who had every right to ask for her assistance, Ezra hated being told what to do. Her eyes narrowed, and she stepped back. "I will try, ma'am, but I can't promise. I don't fly at the same height as they do. They may not listen to what I have to say."

"Then keep trying until they do."

Ezra had wanted to snap at her, but now, laying in her bunk in the army barrack, she couldn't fault her grandmother for grasping at any chance she saw. Wasn't that what she would have done in the woman's position?

She wouldn't talk to Rider, though. There was nothing that could make her bring it to him. She would go to Elestra. They were friends of a sort, and Elestra was the king's daughter. She had power, and Ezra was sure she would feel for the gypsies' troubles enough to speak for them. That decided, Ezra turned over and tried to catch a few hours before training resumed at sunrise.

&&&

The next day, during the lunch hour, Ezra found a palace runner and asked him to deliver a note she'd written that morning to Elestra. The note asked for the Marquise to meet her in the garden that coming rest day. She received Elestra's response that she would be there that evening.

When the appointed time came, the two women met in a section of the garden frequented by both members of the palace staff and guard and by the nobility so that neither of them would look out of place. Ezra told her about meeting the gypsies camping in the city commons, and meeting her grandmother again. Then she told Elestra about Loredana's message.

"I'm not sure what she meant, exactly," Ezra admitted. "I know that there are those who look at gypsies and only see vagrants, and expect the worst. But the way she spoke, it was as if it was more than the usual prejudice they've come up against."

Elestra shook her head. "I haven't heard anything in particular. I do recall the report from the border region about raiders, which isn't unusual. Perhaps the gypsies came through at the same time that the attacks were made and some villagers jumped to the wrong conclusions. I'll look into it. Don't worry. I don't like the thought of my people attacking others randomly."

"Thank you," Ezra said. "I don't know that it will do anything, but I'll tell Loredana what you said."

"You call her by her given name," Elestra pointed out. "Why is that?"

"I don't know her well enough to call her Grandma. She hasn't really been a part of my life up until now. I suppose I should be glad for the chance to get to know her, but if Grandpa is right, and I am just like her, I don't know that we won't end up fighting more than bonding."

The Marquise laughed. "I can see that happening! I do hope you get the chance to know her, though. I never got to meet my maternal grandmother. She was killed when my mother was a child. I did have several years with my father's mother, though, and some of my favorite childhood memories are of her."

"We'll see. I'm not sure how long they'll be camped for. Gypsies don't stay in one place for too long."

"They sound a bit like pirates," Elestra observed as they strolled along the path between the zinnia beds.

"They are. The gypsy clans and pirates have a long history of working together," Ezra explained. "There are things the gypsies can do that pirates need—say the water jugs, for instance. The Udatura clan makes jugs that keep the water fresh tasting for long periods, and the pirates trade some of their pretties for them. Udaturas especially love pearls, as they come from the sea. Or the Alura clan makes charms for fair winds, and we would string them up on the masts when we hit the doldrums and the trade winds died. And in return, not only would the gypsies get payment, but they get a bit of protection, as well."

"Not to mention the chance for romance," Elestra said, grinning.

"Sometimes, though less than you'd think. They might have affairs between the two, but rarely more than that. Gypsies like to keep their blood pure as much as royalty does—no offence. In their eyes, I'm a half-breed. They still claim me, as there are so few of us, but I'll always be something of a disappointment."

Elestra frowned. "That's sad. I've never liked the strict view of 'pure bloodlines' that many of nobility have. It seems to negate the ability of loving the person who your heart leans toward."

"Write a play about it," Ezra suggested, half-teasing. "Isn't that what you artists do? Take what you believe is wrong with the world and show it to the rest of us? It would be interesting to see."

The other woman laughed. "Be careful what you suggest. I may just do so, and then I'll dedicate the play to you. People will wonder why, and I'll have to tell them. You'll be even more famous than you already are."

Ezra snorted. "I think the word is 'infamous'."

"If you can't have one, always strive for the other."

"I didn't strive for anything. I got handed it on a silver platter."

"That happens sometimes, too."

They finally reached the end of the walk, and Ezra had to head back to the barracks to start peeling potatoes for dinner. She made sure Elestra would look into any wrongdoing to gypsies as she said she would before she left, waving her goodbyes. On the way back to her duties, Ezra couldn't shake the ominous feeling building in her stomach that had grown from Loredana's fear.

&&&

Prince Alaraec looked up from his seat at the table in the alcove at Keriam quizzically. "I'm sorry, Thanyl, I don't see what the problem is."

"I'm not saying there is a problem yet, Alec," the other man said as he took the seat the Prince offered. "But there are quite a few of them camped in the park down in Athanarel-city. Gypsies don't normally come this far, and from what Ezra said her grandmother told her, there seems to have been some trouble before they came here."

"Are you suggesting they caused the trouble?"

Keriam shook his head. "Ezra explained that doing any harm was against their code—apart from a bit of pick-pocketing. But if they have been identified with the border raiders in any way, it wouldn't matter if they were in the wrong or not. They may still be persecuted."

Alec sighed in thought, and nodded. "Elestra said something to me about it, too. Apparently Ezra addressed her grandmother's concerns to her in hopes that she would be able to speak to Mother and Father about it." He frowned at his friend. "She said Ezra saw her grandmother more than a week ago. Why did you wait so long to come to me?"

He coughed, and shifted on his cushion. "I wasn't sure it was my place. I was going to wait until I saw her again, and ask her if there was anything I could do. But then I worried that she would tell me 'no' and wait too long to address the issue. I thought it best that I act now. I didn't know that Ezra spoke with you sister, of course."

"Mm." Alec twiddled his quill-pen between his fingers. "You made plans to see Ezra Fyn on a social basis, then?"

Keriam blinked in surprise. "Not particularly, but I wouldn't be averse to it. Why?" He looked sideways at him. "Alec, I know there was some teasing while we were on the _Valiant_, but you don't honestly—"

"What? Thanyl, no! Not at all," Alec protested. "I simply wondered. I'd noticed you became close, but I hadn't realized you were considering a dalliance with her."

"We only went out to stroll the city once, Alec," Keriam said. "I've hardly written my mother about her. However, if she shows an equal interest in me as I believe I have in her, I may do so at some point in the future. But not now."

Alec set the pen down, and regarded his friend in all seriousness. "I sincerely hope you do. I still feel guilty about killing her fiancé, and if I could be the means of bringing another into her life to fill that void, I can at least be happy that I offered some recompense."

"I'm glad of it."

Keriam opened his mouth to say something more, but he was interrupted by a runner. The young man was out of breath. He bowed quickly, and addressed the Prince. "Your Highness, there's news from Admiral Dendricks. The port of Laesez has been sacked."

&&&

A/N: So after all that careful planning on our parts, the action is kicking into high gear. You like? The evil cliffy is there for a purpose – to torment you guys. Haha. I know, we're mean. But it's all in good fun, and you'll appreciate it in the long run (I think).

I know we promised to update every fortnight but it's been hard getting time to write. My holidays are now here so hopefully if EG sends me what she has of chapter 9 soon, I'd be able to continue writing it.

Once again, we look forward to your reviews – be they good or bad, for they keep us on "the straight and narrow" in terms of avoiding clichés and lame stuff.

Special thanks to pixie for reminding me to update. I realized it's been a month since I did so. My bad!

Regards,

FS&EG


	8. Laesez

Gypsy Queen

Chapter 8: Laesez

Messengers and envoys came in and out of the war room every moment in the days that followed news of the raid. Laesez was a port that was generally left alone by pirates, but it was the only port in Remalna that did business with one of the southern kingdoms that grew spices and dyes. Other than those two commodities, Laesez was merely a fisher-port and used for minor ship repairs. There was no reason for pirates to attack it.

The death toll was staggering. Nearly one in four of the inhabitants of the town had been killed, and who knew how many sailors in port for a night only, tradesmen passing through, or smugglers meeting in the dockside taverns and bawdy houses. To top the whole sickening confection off, one of the surviving townsmen who had rushed to the capitol reported seeing a slim blonde woman walking amongst the attacking pirates.

Alec looked around the ten men and two women assembled in the room. Thanyl stood across from him at the long table where a map of Remalna was spread. His mother stood by the king's side, and Elestra gripped her husband's arm as she heard endless reports. Retired General Mishalle spoke with Savona and Nadav off to one side as the rest of them tried to judge the most likely place the attackers would have retreated to.

A knock came to the door, and Alec's father called, "Enter!"

A footman opened the door of the war room to admit Ezranya Fyn. She was the resident pirate expert, after all. And Prince Kaelen had yet to be convinced that this was the result of a planned military attack by an anvante guard sent by Norsunder. The King had decided that it was time to see if Ezra's training and expertise was worth honing.

Ezra looked around the room in confusion at the grim faces. Thankfully the news of the attack had been kept within the inner circle of political and militarily leaders, and had yet to trickle down to the lower court.

"Captain, I'm afraid we need your assistance," the King said. "Would you come here, please?"

Alec met her eyes when she looked at him. She must have seen the weight of the situation on his face because her own paled a little—quite a feat with how golden her skin was. She was dressed in cadet's uniform still, her hair tied back with a simple leather thong. It was functional, simple. He truly wished something was simple in his life right now.

Ezra stepped forward to stand next to Thanyl and opposite Alec at high table the proceedings revolved around. Alec pointed to where the attack took place. "This is Laesez. It was attacked four days ago. It's a port of about one thousand regular inhabitants. The surrounding countryside hosts about half that, and half that again pass through it on a given day. The primary assets of this port are spices brought up from the southern continent and several shades of dye made from similar plants."

"What shades?" Ezra asked.

"Vermillion, ocher, and green," Nadav reported.

"Not purple or blue?"

"No."

Ezra shook her head. "What else goes through here?"

"Nothing," Alec said. "Fish. Whatever the smugglers manage to get by our guards stationed there. Nothing else."

Ezra shook her head again. "There's nothing here worth taking, not really. A port like this is more likely to be a good place to find new crew or trade what you've taken elsewhere for more supplies than be attacked. There's no prestige in this take. Except for this one guard tower—" she pointed to the map—"there's no fortifications. There's no money, no exotic goods except the dyes, and not very expensive ones at that. Indigo is what people will bleed gold out their nose for." She looked up at Alec's face again. Her own was now as grim as his. "This wasn't pirates."

"You're certain?" Kaelen asked.

"Absolutely," she told him. "I'll stake my life on it. This isn't how pirates attack."

"Not to mention the reappearance of Zirellia Ianthe," Alec added. "She was seen with the so-called pirates, and once again she seemed to be directing them in the carnage."

Ezra's gaze snapped to his. "I remember her. She gave me the creeps—her and that damn bird."

The King looked at his two spymasters. "Is there any news on who this woman is? Who she works for? What she might be doing sailing with the Brotherhood of the Damned?"

Father and son looked at one another. Nadav gave a bow, and motioned for Savona to speak first. "The only information we have is the lack of information. If she were anyone who was not an intimate of the Norsundrian high court, we would have learned something about her by now. That she still remains largely a mystery points to her having a strong connection with the Emperor, though we cannot find out what that connection is."

"However," Nadav continued, "a golden-haired, royal little birdy at Dyranarya did happen to mention a story told at the school. It seems that one Zirellia, some years ago, was expelled for having an affair with a professor. It was quite the scandal. The guilty educator was dismissed, and the two were never seen since. This Zirellia was also blind in one eye, but she did not seem to have much in the way of power. There were some nasty rumors about the girl, even before her expulsion, but the content of those rumors is lost."

"And we can be reasonably certain that this Zirellia is the same one that sailed on the Red Lantern?" Alec asked.

"The blindness, the connection with the academy, and the fact that Oria recalled that the girl the story centers on was also known for hypnotism and mimicry leave me fairly certain," Nadav said.

"A member of the Norsundrian high court with magical training certainly wouldn't stoop to being the wench of several dozen sailors aboard a pirate ship." Alec addressed this to Kaelen to ensure that the point was thoroughly embedded in the other man's mind.

The Sartoran heir sighed, and rested his weight on his knuckles as he leaned over the table. He nodded, and looked up at the King. "All right. I believe you. I'll contact my parents, and we shall join you in any endeavors you make."

"Thank you," Vidanric said. He turned his attention to Ezra. "We're going to need you rather sooner than I had expected, but you've not completed your training yet. I'm going to have you trained on a more accelerated schedule, and I'd like to have you join us here for a few candles every day to get your opinions while we plan a counter and defense. Is that acceptable?"

Ezra had gotten her most stubborn, gripped jaw look on her face as his father spoke of accelerating her training, but at his deference to her wishes, she relaxed. She nodded, and stood at attention. "Any way I can help."

Nadav jumped at her consent. "Good! Actually, I was hoping I could snare your assistance on a particularly touchy matter. I have a contact who has recently sent me word that he has some information. I was hoping you could come with me, and give me your professional opinion on his trustworthiness. I, personally, am not inclined to trust him, but you might be able to give me a good reason to renege on our association."

"I…I'll try?"

Alec noted she seemed unsure how to answer his cousin. That wasn't an unusual response. Nadav could talk a philosopher into walking off a cliff, and even on the way down, the man would be wondering what he agreed to.

"Very good," Vidanric said. He motioned one of the men to give him a sheet of paper and the quill pen. "I'll send the word to—"

A knock barely preceded another messenger. The young man had obviously only just relinquished his horse and run all the way up from the stables. "I'm sorry, sir—your Majesty…" he gasped. "I've jus—just come from the coast. Rode all night. Had to get here…tell you…"

"Get him a seat," the King ordered. "And bring water."

The messenger shook his head, though he did sink down the moment a chair was provided. "Your Majesty, I had to tell you, there's been killings."

Vidanric winced. "More pirate attacks?"

"No, sir." He shook his head, tears spilling over. "It's the people. They done awful things to them! Hung them up from trees, beaten bloody and blue, had bits cut off them…"

"Who?" Mishalle demanded.

"Gypsies, sir."

"They wouldn't do that!" Ezra shouted. "Gypsies aren't murderers."

"No, Mistress. The Gypsieswere the ones hanging," the messenger replied. "They were camped near Laesez, but they got out of town in a rush the night before the pirates attacked. Folks from the neighboring towns got wind of it, and they figured the Gypsies were in league with the pirates and planned the attack with them. Or at least they knew and didn't warn anybody. They hunted them down, managed to catch a few, and…I've never seen anything like that."

Just before Alec closed his eyes in attempt to find composure, he saw Ezra sag against the table, and Thanyl brace her on one side. Alec bit the inside of his lip. As if the situation weren't awful enough with military attacks disguised as pirate raids coming from the outside, the Remalnan people had to panic and start internal strife, as well. He wasn't sure if this was a part of Norsunder's plan to weaken the smaller countries with ties to Sartor before they attacked, but it would certainly play into their hands.

"Ezra?" Elestra murmured. "Is there any chance…? I mean, you did say that Gypsies and pirates have a long history of cooperation."

Alec opened his eyes to see Ezra's face as she answered.

"Not like this! Norsunder is a nation of outcasts, and Gypsies are loyal to their families and clans. Anyone who is cast out is dead to their people from that point on. An alliance with Norsunder would be seen as an alliance with ghosts. It treads far too close to darkness for comfort." She shook her head. "I can only think that they felt the Brotherhood coming, and so they left. They wouldn't have stopped to warn the _gadjes_ because none of them would've listened to Gypsies, anyway. If they're not telling jokes or tumbling, no one pays attention to Gypsies."

"'_Gadje_?'" General Mishalle asked. "I take it that means…."

"Not Roma," Ezra said. "Someone who isn't a member of the Gypsy clans."

Flauvic pinched the bridge of his nose. "You didn't stop to tell anyone about this on your way to Athanarel, did you?"

"No, my lord," the messenger said.

"Good," Danric agreed. "We need to stem the tide of panic before this gets any further out of hand, and I want the people to see that we will not stand for this behavior."

"What about the Gypsies camped in the commons?" Mishalle asked. "We may have some trouble out of them. I don't know a people yet that like it when they've been made victims. What happens if they try to retaliate?"

"Captain?" Vidanric asked. Ezra didn't respond. "Captain?"

"Ezra?" Thanyl squeezed her shoulder to get her attention.

She looked up, her eyes glassy, and turned to the King.

"Are we likely to have trouble with those in Athanarel-city?"

"I don't know." She lifted her hands in helplessness. "I want to say no, but…. I don't know."

"Father, perhaps we should bring them here, inside the palace walls," Alec suggested. "For their safety, and to stem retaliation, I think it would be best."

"I agree," he answered. The King motioned for a footman. "Send word to the guard—trained guard, no one green—and have them sent down to Athanarel-city park to escort the Gypsy clans camped there to the palace _peacefully_."

The man nodded, and turned to go when the Queen stopped him.

"Wait!" She turned to her husband. "Darling, do you really think they'll respond well to armed soldiers as an escort?"

"They may not, but it will keep them from doing anything rash," Savona said.

"Unless it sparks a riot," Elestra argued.

"Your grandmother," Alec said to Ezra. The room quieted to hear what he had to say. "Your grandmother is a leader among the Gypsies, is she not?"

Ezra nodded. "How did you…?"

Alec looked at his sister, not wanting to impeach his friend. Ezra got some of her fire back as she scowled at Elestra, and he continued. "If someone were to go to her, and explain the situation, and urge her to accept asylum at the palace, she would be able to get the rest of her people to agree, yes?"

"Yes. If she doesn't already know about the murders and will be more likely to attack any _gadje_ who comes near her than listen, that is."

"Then it appears your assistance is needed in this quarter, as well," the King said. "If you would, please convince your grandmother to temporarily relocate the Gypsies to the palace grounds. She has my word that no harm will come to her or any of her people."

"I'll speak with her," she promised.

"Sooner would be better in this case," said the Queen. "I'll see to it that you're relieved from training for the rest of the day. We need to have the Gypsies relocated here immediately if we want to stop our people from hearing the southern sentiment, and them from retaliating on the innocent."

"Keriam and I will go with you," interrupted Alec, catching Keriam's nodded agreeement. "Meet us outside as soon as you ready a horse. Sethin," he directed toward one of the footmen, "go with her and prepare our horses for the ride."

Ezra nodded, went to attention and actually saluted before she and the footman hurried out of the room.

"She's really doing marvelously better," Nadav commented.

"Nadav," his father murmured.

"It was simply an observation. It's my duty to observe and report back, after all."

"Perhaps you can save those particular observations for another day?" Vidanric suggested in a tone that clearly implied this was not a suggestion. He turned back to the footman still waiting for his orders. "Take the soldiers, a full wing, and send them south to Laesez and the surrounding towns and villages. I don't want any more tortures or murders, and the soldiers can help to rebuild the town. Have twenty supply wagons go with them with food and water for the refugees."

"Yes, Your Majesty," the man said with a snapped bow, and departed the room to see that it was done.

&&&

Alec rode at the head of the party with Keriam and Ezra to each side of him a few paces behind. An entire wing trailed behind them in case something went wrong. The soldiers were to remain outside the park until they heard their Prince signal. Together they moved at a brisk trot as the throngs of people traversing the busy city streets parted to give way. Alec allowed his gaze to roam the crowd, keeping an eye out for gypsies or anything out of the ordinary. He waved and smiled when people called out his name.

The men and women who had lived through his father's tumultuous ascension to the throne tended to be particularly fond of their Prince and Princesses, having watched them grow from mere babes to the young man and women they now were. These were the ones who beamed particularly broadly when he passed.

As he bent over his horse's withers to receive a proffered daisy from a girl with a winning smile, he spied a shadow darting swiftly out of the corner of his eye. "Thank you," he said to the blushing lass, straightening quickly to find the moving shadow. There, a fast moving figure with oil-slicked, curly black hair sprinted away, quickly joined by another two who barely paused to look back as they ran.

Keriam pulled up beside him. "Was that…?"

"Yes. They know." He looked over his shoulder and beckoned Ezra forward. She had barely said a word since they left the palace, and the drawn look had yet to leave her face. He could not be sure if it was due to the tenseness of the situation or the fact that she was unused to a war horse. "Are you all right?" She gave a nod which Alec did not for a moment believe. He offered her the daisy, "Brace up, we need your fighting spirit." She took the daisy with a wan smile and held it to her nose to breathe in its faint scent before tucking it into horse's bridle. It looked ridiculous on the big destrier.

Gripping his reins tight, Alec clicked his tongue and kneed his mount into a trot as they reached the low wall around the city common, and headed for the gypsy camp. The soldiers fell back at the gilded gate to wait for trouble. The scene that greeted Alec, Ezra, and Keriam was not entirely unexpected. Young gypsy men and women stood before them, barring their way with swords, notched arrows, and knives. Some, remarkably, were completely unarmed. The older folk were hastily packing their belongings into colorful caravans, all the while casting furtive glances at the armed soldiers blocking their exit.

A man of middling years stepped forward. "What business have ye here?" He stood bare-chested with his feet apart and arms akimbo. His only weapon was a dagger stuck in his belt.

"We seek the Lucru Ales Loredana," replied Alec. "I am Prince Alaraec of Remalna. Captain Ezranya Fyn, the Lucru Ales' granddaughter, is one of my companions." He indicated Ezra with a neatly gloved hand.

"You'd betray your own?" the gypsy demanded. "To some _gadje_? Will ye help 'em kill us too?"

Ezra started at the venom in his voice then glanced quickly at the gathered gypsies. "I wish to speak to my grandmother. We," she darted a quick look at Alec, "offer you safe haven within the palace, and intend you no harm. I swear it!"

She felt the panic rise in her throat and forced it back down by sheer force of will. "Please, a word with Loredana is all I ask." The answer she received from the man was a ball of flame exploding at her mount's feet. The animal reared and Ezra yelled, clinging on for dear life.

Alec called for the riding. Balls of fire arced through the air and the clash of steel upon steel rang out. Ezra struggled to get her horse under control, only to be yanked off her mount as soon as she had gotten him to calm down. It was the gypsy who had thrown a fistful of flames at her. He grabbed her braid and tugged her head backwards, exposing her neck. Then, he drew his dagger.

"Traitor, you deserve to get yer throat slit!"

Stunned, Ezra instinctively reached for the hand that held the dagger, digging her nails into the underside of his wrist. The corded muscle barely twitched, but distracted him enough to allow her to twist into his hold, forcing his grip to loosen. She elbowed him in the side of the head, and when he released her, she drove her to knee into his groin. The gypsy doubled over, clapping his free hand over his privates as Ezra stumbled backwards, drawing her own sword as she did so. Shifting her grip to hold the weapon double-handed she feared she had angered more than hurt him.

Not to far away, she heard a familiar voice shout out the order that no one be killed. Rider. The gypsy advanced and threw another ball of fire which she side stepped. He stepped towards her, anger glowing like fiery ambers in his eyes. Ezra released a hand from the hilt and threw a fire ball in return. Her display of power caught the gypsy by surprise for he had obviously thought that a half-breed like her wouldn't have much power to speak of. He roared and threw his dagger at her. She deflected the sharp projectile with the flat of her sword, and in the next instant, spun in a tight circle to land a blow to the side of his head with the butt. He fell to his knees, groggy. To be on the safe side she punched him in the eye and sent him into oblivion.

The fighting ensued around her and she caught Rider's eye from across the chaos. He did not need to say anything for her to get his wordless command. She had to find her grandmother. Now.

Breaking into a run, she dodged knots of individuals engaged in combat and headed straight for the caravan she remembered belonged to Loredana. Thankfully, no guards had been posted around the caravan, she flung open the door and dashed in to find Loredana seated on the floor with her back to the door before a glowing brazier. No, a glowing brazier with a face in it.

"I said I did not wish to be disturbed," said Loredana without turning around. "Get out!"

"Loredana, it's me. Ezra. There's trouble. They're killing each other out there!"

The Lucru Ales tensed for an instant but her attention never wavered from whomever she was communicating with through the fire. "Duty calls, Petra. Keep me informed of your whereabouts. May the Spirits guide your way," said Loredana, rising from her seat only after hearing the intoned reply.

"What is it?" she demanded.

"We just received reports about the revenge killings. The King has offered all gypsies safe haven in the palace. You must come with me!"

"Must? I asked you to do your duty by us but instead of aid, we get disaster! A dozen members of the Alura tribe were tortured and killed for escaping the sacking at Laesez. Even the young 'uns weren't spared! And you ask me to seek safe haven with the rulers of such monsters?" She laughed in disbelief.

"You must believe me! Please, at least stop the fighting outside before more damage is done…"

"Tell me," interrupted the Lucru Ales, "why do you trust these monsters so? These mindless creatures who seek death and destruction at every turn? The Gypsies can only trust each other, not the pirates nor the _gadje_!"

"I… I don't trust them implicitly." Ezra shook her head to clear it. She knew she had to put the old woman at east, to persuade her to listen, to agree, to stop the madness going on beyond her door. "No. I do trust them! They're men and women of their word, and it certainly wasn't the royals who were killing the Alura. I was with them in the room when they got word, and they were as stunned as I was. They had nothing to do with it, and they are going to stop it. What they promise they will deliver to the best of their abilities. They gave me, and the Fearless's crew a second chance instead of hanging us even though no one would have punished them for breaking their word to a bunch of pirates."

"But at what cost, Ezra? What price did you have to pay? You forsook your freedom and got caught up in their affairs. Have you not considered that they may be setting out to finish what their own have started?"

Ezra, faced with this angry, determined old woman, was speechless. Speechless, that is, until Keriam burst through the open door slightly worse for wear, brandishing his sword. In a split second, a ball of flame flew his way. He ducked, grabbed Ezra by the waist and pulled her down to the floor before rolling further into the caravan.

"No! Keriam, you're making it worse!" she yelled, detangling herself from him. She drove her elbow into his head and knocked him unconscious so that he wouldn't continue to hinder the situation. Ezra tried to stand only to trip over Keriam's legs as she shook her hand vigorously, trying to ease the ache in her knuckles from punching Thanyl. She looked up to see her grandmother standing in the door way. Outside the sounds of combat could still be heard.

The Lucru Ales approached with a purposeful tread, staring down in disdain at the young woman sprawled at her feet. Deft fingers undid the ties of Ezra's uniform and reached for the quartzes that hung around her neck.

"You are no granddaughter of mine," choked out Loredana, her eyes hard and cold despite the streak of tears.

Ezra's jaw tightened, and she grabbed her wrist. Loredana tried to tug the chain, but Ezra twisted her grandmother's arm around to stop her. "Those aren't yours anymore. They're mine."

The Gypsy leader was so absorbed in glaring at a younger version of herself, that she did not notice the shadow that fell across them both. Calloused hands encircled her fragile wrists, and a solid chest pressed against her back. Loredana saw, before she turned around, her granddaughter's eyes widen in surprise, and filling with unexpectedly respect as well as a bit of irritation. Loredana turned enough in the restricting arms to see grey eyes in a young, pale face pulled tight with authority.

"Don't hurt her," Ezra warned. "She's still my grandmother…even if she's behaving like a harpy."

Loredana seethed. She had never been so humiliated, never so heartbroken since she'd learned of her daughter's murder. She squeezed her eyes shut, a tear escaping to drip down her nose and chin. She would forget the name Ezra, forget that this person ever existed, forget the pain that seared her soul when she renounced the girl. _It isn't all that difficult to forget when one is about to meet her end_, she mused.

The tip of a nose brushed her ear. A soft, calm voice murmured in her ear, "Harmony, trust, and tolerance. Three of the eight Gypsy Tenets. That is all I ask of you and all that me and mine will give in return."

"Who are you?" she asked, despite knowing the answer from the look in the girl's eyes.

"Prince Alaraec of Remalna. It is a pleasure to finally meet the renowned Lucru Ales of the Gypsies, and, as I understand, the Captain's grandmother," came the reply in the same soothing tone. It was almost as if they were having a friendly chat.

"Let me go," demanded Loredana, "or I'll burn the skin from your body."

"Only if you promise to stop the fighting. I did not come to harm your people. The soldiers were here in case my own people tried to harm any of you. We are drawing enough attention as it is. I'm sure you know what sort of panic might ensue." He paused for her to process what he had said. "We have the same goal, you and I. The safety of the Gypsies. I have promised your granddaughter that, but I can ensure that it is done only if you let me."

Loredana glanced down at the gems she'd fashioned so many years ago still hanging from the girl's neck. Directing her question at Ezra, she asked, "Do you swear to his words upon your parents' graves?" Ezra nodded, and Loredana agreed, "Then it is done. Unhand me, Alaraec of Remalna." Once the arms loosened and she stepped away in order to get a better look at the young man's face, she scowled at him. "If you or yours bring any harm upon my people, all gypsies will curse you and anyone who shares a drop of your blood with boils and barren loins."

"I'll keep that in mind," the Prince promised, straight-faced.

With a last sniffling look-over, Loredana strode outside. She heard Ezra and the Prince help their friend to his feet, her granddaughter apologizing for knocking him out. As soon as all three young folk could walk, they rushed to keep up with her. The sight that greeted her clenched her stomach. Her people were fighting a foe that refused to take life, but the blood that was spilled was perhaps worse because of it. Her people weren't trained for this. She wanted to tell them to stop but they would never hear her over the din they were making. The Prince and the reckless young man with the mustache yelled "Hold! Hold!" as they overtook her running, trying to stop the fighting. More fire greeted their reentering the fray.

"Why aren't you doing anything?!" exclaimed Ezra.

"I'm going to!" retorted Loredana, annoyed. She narrowed her gaze and focused her attentions on the fighting ahead. She felt her power spark to life in her mind and stream out of her fingers towards all that sharp, noisy, dangerous metal. Swords and daggers were dropped with yelps of pain, arrowheads melted and were useless. Turning to Ezra, she said, "Help me."

"What…"

The Lucru Ales looked grim. "I'm old. I don't have enough strength for this. You must lend me yours. Hold onto your necklace and give me your other hand." She clutched the free hand offered while Ezra held her parents' smoky quartz and rose quartz in her other fist. She extended her own right hand like she did previously. Ezra saw a stream of sparks fly from Loredana's hand up into the air above the crowd of Remalnan soldiers and gypsies. The younger gypsy children gathered to watch in amazement as the smoky pink shimmer fell like rain around them.

"…was that?" asked Ezra at last, staring in disbelief as the fight seemed to instantaneously go out of soldiers and gypsies alike.

"Don't you know the properties of the smoky quartz and rose quartz?" queried Loredana, with an arched brow.

"Oh, I do. Grandpa told me. The rose quartz is 'thestone of gentle love', which brings peace and calm to the wearer, and the smoky quartz is 'the stone of personal pride and joy in living'." Loredana smiled at the expression on her granddaughter's astonished face now gaining comprehension. "Are you telling me that you drew out those qualities and um… sprinkled it all over them?"

The Lucru Ales felt her smile widen. "Yes. And I couldn't have done it without your help." Ezra grinned in return, relief apparent in her features. However, Loredana grew somber. "I meant what I said you know. If this is a trick…"

Ezra quickly cut in, "It's not. I promise. Come," she extended a helping hand to the old woman and guided her towards the now milling but wary crowd.

The Prince came towards them slapping the brim of his hat against his knee. The afternoon sun made a halo of his hair, and a smile that would charm any woman, young or old, hovered on his lips. _A mouth made for smiles and kisses_, Loredana thought an instant before her defenses came slamming back to the fore.

"I don't know what you did, but thank you," he said before she could speak. She inclined her head graciously. "We would gladly help you break camp and remove you to the palace compound by day's end." He assessed her reaction, and, descrying nothing, added, "If that is acceptable to you?"

"It is. Make it snappy. I don't like dawdling." She saw the Prince exchange a glance with Ezra before he saluted in acknowledgement of her command. The two moved away and fell into step immediately. She heard the Price murmur with a laugh coloring his voice, "Really, I would never have guessed she was your grandmother."

"Put it on your silver plate and eat it, Rider," Ezra retorted, punching him in the shoulder. His only reaction was to laugh – out loud.

&&&

A/N: This chapter was exciting and action-packed was it not? Kudos to the both of us. Urgh...I'm so thick-skinned. In any case, EG is editing chapter 9 while in Europe! She'll be there for 6 weeks. I'm jealous. The summer semester is killing me! It's compulsory for me to take summer courses coz I'm cramming 4 years of studies into 3. But chapter 9 should be done soon. I'll probably drop EG an email though she'd probably find me annoying.

Then you'll have to wait another month for the next chapter. Thanks to gypsyhick for reminding me to update! Now go and review!


	9. Lemon

**Gypsy Queen**

**Chapter 9: ****Lemon**

A group of young courtiers stood to one side of the Throne Room as they awaited Petitioners' Court to begin. The sun shone bright through the large windows, and glinted off of the ladies' jewelry and hair that was brushed and arranged to best flaunt its gloss. Most exquisite of all was the Marquise Cordalyse Avalnae. Her hair seemed as if it were made of flames in the sunlight, and her pale skin—the color of a good pearl—brightened with the illumination. Alec found himself thinking that she was terribly bright. He would have preferred to stand across from someone who was not as blatant in their luminosity. Someone more moon-like than sun.

Cordalyse held her fan in "Polite Inquiry" as she practically vibrated with nerves. "Your Highness, are you sure we are safe with those people here in the palace grounds?"

Alec bowed slightly. "Of course. I would not have allowed them to come if I was not sure that they would pose no threat. Captain Ezranya Fyn's grandmother is the leader of the Gypsies, and we've come to an understanding regarding their residence here."

"Ezra Fyn, the Pirate Princess, is a Gypsy?" Prince Kaelan asked. "Well, that certainly explains the fiery spirit."

"The Clan she descends from is actually the Flacara, which means fire," Alec said. "And her grandmother can throw flames, as well as burn someone's flesh from their bones. However, she could have been exaggerating for the sake of the threat."

"She can throw fire?" Flauvic asked, interested. "What spell does she use? It takes fairly complicated magic to harness an elemental force."

Some of the single ladies in the group sighed. Alec caught his sister's smirk as she touched her husband's arm. His reputation as a reformed evil sorcerer made Flauvic a dashing figure in the minds of the current generation.

"I don't believe she uses any spell," Alec returned. "From what I understand, it's an innate ability."

"Really? That's actually quite impressive. And intriguing. Perh—"

"Flauvic," Elestra warned in a pleasant tone. "Best to not tempt fate. I'd like to keep my husband non-arboreal."

If it had been anyone other than The Flower, he would have scowled in annoyance. But it was Flauvic, and he was in public. So he settled for a slight bow of agreement. "Of course, my dear."

"But if the Gypsies do have such power," Cordalyse fretted, "are we not in some danger of them using it against us? After all, they have been greatly wronged recently. Surely they harbor some resentment?"

_She has no idea_, Alec thought ironically as he thought back on the two-candle affair of moving the Gypsies from the park to the palace the day before. After the violence was ended by Ezra's grandmother, the Gypsies still had to pack their wagons, what they called their _vardo_. Still wary of the soldiers, the Gypsies refused any help, although it didn't take as long as Alec had feared. They truly were efficient travelers, and the entire camp—_kumpania_, he remembered Ezra saying—managed to be ready to travel within less than a candle.

As they'd trekked through the city once again, Alec and Ezra had elected to walk with Loredana and several of the other Gypsy leaders as a demonstration of good faith, and to show the people of Athanarel-city that these were guest of the palace, allies, not under arrest. If the city-folk believed that the Gypsies were being forced to the palace, it would only perpetuate the violence—even seem to condone it. And so the Prince walked amongst his guests with Ezra as his emissary.

Keriam, with both his pride and his head hurting, was sent ahead on horseback, leading Ezra's mount with him. She wasn't comfortable with the animals, and Alec needed her to be confident if they did not want to appear weak while heading this volatile exhibition through the streets.

Alec did feel bad about his friend's wounded dignity. He accidentally overheard a confrontation between Ezra and Thanyl as he made a round to check the well-being of his troops.

"And you had to render me unconscious why, exactly?"

"Keriam, you barreled into the home of a queen threatening her with a sword while I was trying to get her to do her duty and stop the fighting. You made the situation a hundred times more dangerous than it already was!"

"I was trying to protect you."

"I didn't need your protection, but even if I did, that wasn't the way to give it. Either you would have ended up dead, or you would have killed the Lucru Ales of all the Roma. It would be like killing Rider's mother, do you understand that?"

"She was threatening you," Thanyl explained slowly, as if to a child. "I had no intention of killing her, simply of warning her away from you before she did any harm."

"Keriam…." Ezra sounded exasperated. "Thanyl. I've been attacked by more fearsome people in my life than one old woman. She may have age and cunning on her side, but I have a lifetime's worth of experience in defending myself. Pirate, remember?"

Alec had walked away before he heard any more. It appeared that if Thanyl was ever going to write to his mother about Ezra, they would certainly need to come to some sort of understanding first. He felt a bit of satisfaction at that, and immediately felt guilty for it. Just because he had a tumultuous relationship with Ezra didn't give him a right to wish her temper on others.

_That's not why you were glad of them fighting_, a niggling twinge whispered in his mind.

Alec roused himself out of his thoughts as soon as he realized what he was thinking. Really, what thoughts! He had no interest in Ezranya Fyn. She was an ally, a secret weapon, and occasionally a verbal sparring partner. But nothing more than that. Yes, she was attractive enough, and a fine fighter, and never dull, but it wasn't appropriate for him to think of her as any of those things. Unfortunately, he entered into a very similar conversation.

"Given that her grandmother is the leader of the Gypsies, their monarch for lack of a better term, that sort of makes Ezra royalty," Nadav was saying.

"Whatever do you mean?" Elestra asked.

Nadav shrugged. "I was only thinking that if the Gypsies have a lineal ascension to their 'throne' then Ezra qualifies as a princess. I don't believe they do, however, so it's a moot point."

Elestra nodded. "She told me that a Gypsy leader is elected by all the…_vistas_ I believe was the term she used. So while her grandmother is their equivalent of a queen, Ezra has no special position. Indeed, she's rather an outcast given that her Gypsy blood is so diluted. She's only a quarter Gypsy."

"Still," Kaelan interjected, "it's amusing to think about. The pirate princess as a Gypsy princess as well. Alaraec? What do you think?"

Alec opened his mouth to answer, but was saved by the beginning of Petitioners' Court. It was a lucky thing for him, since he had nothing to answer Ezra's hypothetical nobility with.

&&&

"First!"

Ezra swung her sword into position with Major Newbeth's call.

"Fifth! Seventh! Third! First! Third! Second! Fourth!"

Again and again, she lifted, swung, cut, blocked, and parried with her blade. Her arms were burning from the strain, and her chest was tight. Her braced thighs had gone numb long ago. Her body was trained into redundancy, her mind not thinking, just reacting.

"Seventh! First! Fourth! Third! Rest!" the major called. "Good progress today. Dismissed."

Ezra let her arms hang limp at her sides for a moment. She knew she didn't have time for a real rest like the rest of the cadets had at the height of the day. She needed to meet with Loredana to check on how the clan fared in their new surroundings. And then she had to meet with Rider and the War Councilthat was planning the defense against the Brotherhood of the Damned. And then there was strategy training with one of the other training officers. And then there were potatoes to peel. And then dishes. And only then could she collapse onto her bunk.

A gentle hand rested on her shoulder, and Ezra opened her eyes to see Major Newbeth smiling in commiseration. "You look exhausted. Go get yourself a drink of water, and sit down for a while."

"Wish I could, but I have an angry Romani matron to see."

"Yes, I've heard." At Ezra's surprised arch of brow, Newbeth smiled. "Word spreads quicker than a grassland fire here."

"Not much different than a ship," Ezra muttered. She stretched her arms and groaned at the strain of her muscles. "And now I need to visit my grandmother. Until tomorrow, Major."

She saluted, and Major Newbeth returned the gesture.

&&&

Ezra dashed through the communal cleaning frame, and felt the sweat and grit she had accumalated over the course of the morning disappear. She itched – literally – to change out of the dull green uniform she had wearing for the past few months. One would expect her to have gotten use to the sturdy battle tunics by now, but she still felt like a fraud wearing them.

Ah, well. There was no time to change and it'd be a hassle to have to put it back on for the War Council later. She gave her tunic a sharp tug to straighten it out and flipped her single braid back to hang down between her shoulder blades. A quick check to ensure that she was presentable before dashing down the empty hallways. It seemed that every other cadet in her hall was either catching up on their sleep or out for lunch.

Her steps slowed as she neared the courtyard which had been set aside for the gypsies. The colorful _vardos_ seemed out of place in the quadrangle—little wonder, since this part of the palace was usually deserted. Today, not only was it packed with wary gypsies, but soldiers guarded the perimeter as well.

Ezra could not ascertain whether they were guarding the gypsies who were unpacking their meager belongings under those watchful gazes, or the curious courtiers and numerous onlookers who had gathered around to watch the new arrivals. It had been a week since the gypsies were installed at the palace. For the most part, they were left alone but they still drew the noble crowd, who bought trinkets and charms. Transactions were done under the watchful eyes of the guards on duty, and no one without permission could enter or leave the courtyard. That was until a certain young, red-haired, future Marquis ducked under an outstretched arm and headed straight for the Lucru Ales at a run from the opposite end of the courtyard.

"Keneric, come back here!" came the sharp order of an adult whose patience has been sorely tested.

Ezra nodded at the soldiers who stood in her vicinity and approached the Gypsy leader as well. From her vantage point, she saw a blond head bobbing in the distance, following the boy-lord at an almost leisurely pace. Her heart stuttered. She had not thought Rider would have the time to visit the gypsies busy as he must be handling the incident at Laesez and its calamitous consequences.

She raised a hand to wave then checked herself. Was she actually happy to see him? Hadn't she just seen him last week, during which they had quarrelled about where the gypsies would be housed? He had suggested one of the newly built barracks while she had demanded – at Loredana's behest – an open, airy space. She had won. The longer she went without seeing him, the fewer arguments they'd get into; all the better.

Instead of Rider, however, the crowd of onlookers parted to reveal a frazzled Marquis of Merindar striding her way. A sharp, icy stab of disappointment. Then, swiftly on its heels, the cool breeze of relief. His sharp eye picked her out almost immediately despite the large crowd gathered, and he nodded a greeting as they arrived almost simultaneously at the spot where Keneric and Loredana stood conversing.

"… and you are?" asked Loredana, more bemused than annoyed at the little intruder.

"Uncle Alec says you make fire," said Keneric matter-of-factly.

Flauvic dropped a restraining hand on his son's shoulder and admonished his heir, "Keneric, where have your manners gone begging? The lady asked you for your name." He smiled apologetically at the Lucru Ales, then added as he swept her a bow, "Flauvic Merindar, at your service."

"Don't 'at your service' me, my lord Marquis," came the tart reply.

If the Marquis was taken aback by Loredana's forthrightness and knowledge of his identity, his only indication was a quick quirk of his lips. "Keneric," he prompted, as Ezra bit her lower lip to stifle her laughter.

The young boy performed a simple bow, wobbling a little as he recovered. "Keneric Merindar, my lady."

"Nice to meet you Keneric Merindar. No, I don't make fire. I _am_ fire." Loredana inclined her head in Flauvic's direction then turned her back on father and son in an unspoken dismissal. She wasn't surprised to find Ezra just behind her, just flicked a glance her way and gestured a beckon.

Ezra smiled at the Marquis apologetically. Dropping her gaze to young Keneric, she swore that he had turned a shade paler, and his fiery hair stood out in greater contrast. "Papa, will they burn the palace to the ground?" he asked urgently, tugging at his father's arm.

She bent down to whisper, "Don't worry. We're very good at keeping our fires from hurting people."

Keneric sighed in relief, and leaned against his father's leg. Ezra grinned at the boy, and headed off after her grandmother. No sooner was she in speaking distance than the old woman spoke.

"You were looking for me." It wasn't phrased as a question.

Ezra emphasized her "Yes," with a nod.

"You certainly took a while to come visit," commented Loredana. "Even your friend the Prince came to 'pay his respects', as he so eloquently put it."

"I've been busy – " Ezra wondered briefly at her grandmother's bad mood then added incredulously, "Rider came to visit you?"

"He did. An utterly pleasant young man when he isn't spewing threats." She sniffed.

Ezra grinned and found herself jumping to Rider's defense. "He didn't threaten you, he was attempting to negotiate with you. Quite reasonably, I might add. He's rarely reasonable, I assure you. At least not with me." A pause, then, "Is everything all right?"

"No. Those guards watch us like hawks. It's almost as if they're waiting for us to steal something so that they can clap us in chains and toss us into the deepest dungeon. It'd certainly be more convenient than making sure that we don't bite the hand that feeds us," she added sarcastically. "And don't tell me they expect us to entertain them for free!"

Ezra inhaled deeply before she replied in an even voice. "Has it occurred to you that the guards are there for your protection? And why are you so grumpy?"

"I am. Not. Grumpy." The old lady huffed and crossed her arms. "I can only see the sky here. The only running water is a fountain, and there is no earth beneath my feet! It's tiled! I expected better of a palace," she groused.

"It's only temporary. I'll see if I can get Rider to move you into one of the gardens, how's that?" She recalled the Gypsies need to be surrounded by nature and nothing else. That would explain the bad mood.

"Yes, you see to that. Now, there's someone who's been wanting to meet you all proper since the last time was more of a disaster." She indicated a mustachioed man who had appeared seemingly out of thin air. He bowed his head, his oil-slicked hair glistening at the movement. When he straightened, Ezra recognized him as the man who had instigated the fight the other day by throwing a fireball at her.

Ezra took an involuntary step back, her hand falling to the sword by her side. "You!" she gasped.

"Ezra, this is Dukker, our fortune-teller," introduced Loredana, "I've already reprimanded him for his act of aggression but the matter cannot be put to rest unless you forgive him of his transgression against you."

"Aye. I am deeply sorry if I have offended you Mistress Fyn. You must see that I was only trying to protect my Lucru Ales from harm." He seemed sincerely apologetic, his moustache sagged with his downturned mouth. "Please grant me your forgiveness."

Startled by this vehement profession of regret, Ezra only managed to say, "Uh… I guess. Just promise not to throw fireballs at me ever again."

Dukker grinned, showing white teeth. Even his moustache seemed to droop a little less than before. "Certainly, mistress!"

&&&

Alec heard from his brother-in-law that Ezra was visiting with her grandmother in the courtyard that housed the Gypsies. That, unfortunately, did not bode well for her attitude at the convening of the War Council that afternoon. Ezra always seemed in a more fractious mood after she was around them. Something of their fiery nature ignited her own.

The Prince strolled down the corridor headed toward one of the anterooms where the meeting with his father, Prince Kaelen, Savona, Nadav, and several representatives of the sacked ports along with the Admirals and Naval commanders who had experience with the Brotherhood. Keriam would be there, but he had a few administrative details of his own to attend to. As he walked, Alec flipped through a folio of notes and maps and battle strategies. He already knew he was going to have to go out onto the ocean again for the campaign, and his stomach rolled at the thought.

Of course, he would have Ezra provide him with the ensorcelled pearl, the Pirate's Pearl, that prevented sea sickness. He smiled remembering the promise that he wouldn't go out to sea again unless she were the Captain.

"Good day, Your Highness," a sweet voice broke him out of his reverie. Alec looked up to see the lovely Cordalyse, resplendent in her white and rose day gown with her hair braided and wrapped in loops and swirls atop her head, walking towards him from the direction of the library. "You were having pleasant thoughts, I gather?"

Momentarily at a loss to explain what he was thinking, Alec simply gave her a vague smile and hmm'ed. He looked down at the basket of exotic fruits she carried and found it an excellent change of topic. "And where, may I inquire, did you find such as you have there?"

She blushed. "They are for you. You are not the only one with relatives of a magical bent, Your Highness."

Alec was momentarily startled, though he had enough control not to show it. "I'm grateful, Lady Avalnae—"

"Cordalyse, please," she corrected. "We are friends, are we not?"

"Of course. I am thankful for the gift, Cordalyse, however I currently have an engagement with the War Council. I fear I could hardly bring your basket with me."

Again, a deep pink glow flushed the lady's cheeks. "Shall I have it sent to your apartments, then?"

"Rider!"

Alec and Cordalyse turned to find Ezra Fyn striding down the long hall toward them. Or. more rightly, toward Alec. She didn't seem to be terribly concerned about Cordalyse's presence.

"Captain?" he answered as he looked her over. She was once again in her cadet's uniform of loose trousers under a long tunic emblazoned with the crest of Remalna, and a long-sleeved shirt underneath. Her hair was tied back away from her face, and it struck him again that, with it so, she looked almost like an adolescent boy—albeit a very pretty one. Really, was it any fault of his that he had mistaken her for one when they first met?

A few strands of hair had escaped her ponytail and fluttered about her eyes and ears, stuck to her neck, and Ezra batted one away as she neared them. Her confused, irritated scowl brought an unexpected smile to tug at Alec's mouth.

"Where is this meeting supposed to take place, and did you plan it at the farthest end of the palace away from the barracks just to make my day a little harder?"

"I wouldn't dream of trying to inconvenience you," he answered in a voice that suggested that even if he hadn't planned it that way, seeing her reaction was still a bonus. "We're meeting in one of the Green Anterooms to the Throne Room. I'll lead you there in just a moment."

Alec turned back to the quiet, intimidated marquise. Clearly Ezra's brashness put the modest young woman at a disadvantage. He bent in a polite bow, and asked, "Please excuse me if I leave you, Cordalyse? I'm afraid we are a bit late."

The red-head dipped a curtsy. "Of course. The…the basket?"

With as much dignity as he could muster, he told her that she could have it sent to his rooms. Ezra peered into the basket, and looked up at him. "Yours?" He nodded, and she motioned to the lemon the basket contained. "May I?"

Before he gave her an answer, she took the yellow citrus out, pulled a small knife from her boot and started to spread the peel. "You eat lemons raw?"

The words had escaped from his mouth before he could martial them, much to his chagrin.

She shrugged. "When the only other choice is scurvy, you learn to like them." She started walking away in the direction Alec was originally headed. She looked over her shoulder, and called, "Rider! You're supposed to be leading the way."

Alec once again turned to Cordalyse with a bow and caught up with Ezra in a few long strides.

&&&

They arrived at the antechamber in good time, just as everyone else was settling into their seats. Here, Ezra noticed, the ancient greenwood table was round. And there were twelve beautifully carved chairs to match. Extra chairs, these made of plain wood, had been brought in to accomadate the large War Council. She spotted Keriam standing to the side, a sheaf of papers in his hands. He caught her inquiring glance, and shook his head. There was no place at the table for him.

Rider directed her to one of the greenwood chairs, dropped his folio of documents on to the table, and pulled out the chair for her. Startled, she looked up at him, nearly cutting herself as she finished peeling the lemon. It was obvious that he had not anticipated her surprise for he stared right back at her blankly. An awkward pause ensued before he recovered and said, "Please take a seat, Ezra."

She fought the urge to plop into the cushioned chair as she would have done on any other occasion. Instead, she slid into the space between table and chair by shuffling her feet, and sat only after Rider had smoothly manoeuvred the seat beneath her. No one had ever pulled out a chair for her before. She wasn't sure whether to be flattered at the gesture or irritated that he thought she couldn't sit down on her own. Ezra sneaked a peek at the Prince who seemed unconcerned as he pulled out the chair beside her and settled his lean frame into it with all the grace of a tidal swell surging in to rest on the beach.

A prick of pain reminded her that she still held the wicked blade in her hand. She cut the lemon into quarters then wiped the knife clean with the edge of her tunic and shoved it back into her boot, chiding herself for her foolishness as she did so. He probably opened doors and pulled out chairs for ladies all the time. It was simply habit for him. But did that mean he considered her a lady?

Ezra did not have the time to pursue that train of thought for someone was calling her name, and lemon juice was seeping through her fingers. "Yes?" she asked, looking around the table. Everyone was staring at her.

Then Rider said, "Ezra, you're dripping lemon juice on an antique." She snatched her lemon-filled hand off the table and glared at the infuriating man beside her. "Here, take my handkerchief before you do anymore damage."

A plain white handkerchief was pulled out of his breast pocket, neatly folded and pristine. He wiped the lemon juice from the table before pressing it into her free hand. She glanced at it and found it clean. "It's ensorcelled," he anticipated her question in his know-it-all voice. She glared at him again but that only seemed to amuse him more as he fought a losing battle with his facial muscles and grinned.

"Alec," said the King in an exasperated tone, "if you're both finished, we have business to attend to." That effectively wiped the smile from his face, and it was her turn to smirk. She popped a lemon slice into her mouth and chewed. The tart sourness prevented her from smirking all the more at Rider's discomfiture. He sent a quick glance her way, a faint flush along his cheeks, then cleared his throat and addressed the room.

"I'm sorry for my distraction." A cough. "It was momentary and will not happen again." He leaned forward and indicated an area along the south-eastern coastal edge of the Remalnan map. "We've commenced building better fortifications for our ports, and coastal towns and cities. Soldiers have also been sent to these areas to resume the militia's training. We have grown lax in maintaining our coastal defenses since the last attempt by the Brotherhood." He paused when General Mishalle gestured for attention. "General?"

"We're still fending off raiders along the inland borders. Won't we be spreading ourselves even thinner by defending the coasts as well? Let's not forget internal strife. We'll need soldiers to maintain peace here as well." There were nods of assent all around.

"That is why we need the militia. We cannot, will not, resort to mercenaries. That is also why we need to ally ourselves with our neighbors. Sartor has offered us their aid," a nod in the Sartoran prince's direction, "but it is upon our selves we must depend. Norsunder is attacking us not only with its military might but with magic as well. My father has appealed to the Dyranarya academy for their guidance in this matter, and they have agreed to help in any way possible."

"Highness, you mention Dyaranarya?" asked one of the representatives. "There are,

I'm sure, not enough mages to go around even if you were to empty the academy of its newest students!"

"You're right. The best solution we've come up with so far is to have qualified mages deployed to reinforce our defenses with magical wards." A quick glance in the King's direction then a look at his cousin. "Nadav, any news?"

"It appears that Zirellia Ianthe is lover to the Emperor's right hand man. From the looks of it, that man and the former Dyarnarya professor are one and the same." The younger Savona appeared contemplative as he delivered his report. "My spies report that it is the latter that we should be more worried about for he has remained unseen and practically unheard of all this while."

Alec leaned back into his chair, his gaze sliding to his right as Ezra slipped another slice of lemon into her mouth. After scrunching up her face at its sourness, she proceeded to lick her lips and fingers with absentminded determination. He watched, for an instant mesmerized by her long fingers and soft lips. Oh, he remembered how soft those lips were. "Mistress Fyn?" he murmured. "What are your thoughts on the matter?"

She paused mid-lick then smiled. "Simple. If you wanna hook the big fish, hook the small one and use it as bait. Sharks will eat their own wounded." Alec grinned at her nautical analogy.

"You're saying that we should capture Zirellia?" asked the Queen, her brows rising. "Perhaps, being a non-magic user you do not fully understand the extent of her powers."

"I do magic!" replied Ezra hotly, demonstrating her skill by igniting the tip of her index finger.

"Elemental magic, yes." The Queen pinched the bridge of her nose. "Zirellia deals with a magic far more complex than what you or I can do. From what I understand, it is difficult to measure her exact amount of power because we are not sure how much is actual, and how much is illusion. She may even be able to use and creates illusions to make it seem as if she were not as powerful as she is, rather than the other way around."

"'Elemental magic' you say? Hmm…" Kaelen rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I'm not sure but I believe I've read somewhere that elemental magic has a canceling effect on dark magic. It's something about the forces of nature being – for obvious reasons – natural, and thus more acceptable to the natural world." He snapped his fingers. "I'll have to go read up on it again."

"I'll send a missive to Oria," said the Queen. "She'll know."

"What about the Gypsies?" piped up the representative from Laesez. "The people are still wary of them."

"Their Lucru Ales has ordered them to keep out of trouble. And I've issued a decree stating that anyone found guilty of harming a gypsy will be brought to the palace and tried as traitors to the Crown. The notices are are being posted as we speak," said the King sternly.

More talk of things that were mostly over her head passed around Ezra. She took it all in from her seat, still eating slices of lemon and occasionally wiping her hands on the still-pristine white handkerchief in her lap. She answered what she could—will the Gypsies remain content for a while longer? are we sure that these attacks are not the result of simple pirate attacks?—but most of the conversation wasn't about her. She did learn several interesting facts during this meeting, however. These were aspects of battle strategy which might have been present at her last meeting in such a situation, but she had been so angry and intent on being belligerent at the time that she had missed them.

Firstly, nothing was done in the Palace without hours of blather and deliberation. It was a wonder anything was done at all. Although it was a little comforting that those in power did nothing until they were absolutely sure they were doing the right thing. And Ezra was forced to admit, once again, that these particular royals were the good sort. They took care of their people.

Secondly, she learned that every opinion in the room mattered while making decisions. They repeatedly asked her for clarification and drew on her pirate or Gypsy knowledge. Even those who sat in the plain chairs rather than the ornate ones, or those who stood, were allowed to weigh in. So it wasn't simply politeness or mockery when Rider asked what she thought. That was humbling enough for Ezra that she considered giving the Prince an apology.

And thirdly, there was no bias against what the Queen or the other female officers had to say in regard to war plans. Not that Ezra had seen many examples of outright misogyny in her life, but many men—at least in the pirate world—tended to think that women were less inclined for violence than men. It explained why those women who did take to the sea often became notorious for savagery. They had to compete with equally bloodthirsty brethren who outnumbered them and tried to take their authority. Not so here.

The War Council concluded with a surprising announcement from Rider's cousin, Nadav. Ezra was quickly learning that this young man was not the flippant fop he pretended to be. A deadly quick mind lay under that immaculately styled coif.

"I will have more information about the Brotherhood tomorrow," the young lord announced. "I have a meeting with an informant tonight. One who has given me reason to suspect new information has come to light."

"Why does this informant have more information than what our own spies have picked up?" one of the Admirals asked.

"I am not at liberty to discuss that at this time," Nadav answered. "However, Captain?" He turned to look at Ezra who was just about to put her last slice of lemon into her mouth. "If you would please remain for a few moments, I would be grateful."

Ezra glanced over at Rider who looked surprised—or the Princely version of surprised when he was trying to look like he knew about this all along—then looked back to Nadav. "Of course," she said, and popped in the last of the lemon.

Rider went to talk with his cousin as the rest of the people in the room filed out. They got into a slight argument, and it ended finally with Rider calling Keriam over to them and all three nodding a grudging consent. Ezra remained at the table until she was alone with the younger spymaster and Keriam.

Nadav shrugged off whatever had passed between him and the Prince, and turned to Ezra with a smile. "I've wanted to ask all this while: where did you get the lemon?"

"Lady Cordalyse had a basket all made up for Rider. I snagged a piece as I passed."

At the marquise's name, his smile faltered somewhat. "Ah. Of course she would. She's really…very thoughtful that way." He cleared his throat and leaned against one of the chairs. "Now, I'm sure you're wondering why I kept you behind. You see, I need your expertise on my interview with this informant. He's a pirate, and since I have very little experience with pirates, I was hoping you could come along and give me your opinion on whether or not he is telling the truth."

Ezra raised her brows and looked over to Keriam. He bowed slightly, his mustache twitching in a repressed smile. "I will be accompanying the both of you as physical protection in case something happens."

"Rider's idea?"

"Alec's idea," confirmed Nadav. "Apparently he was quite worried that one of us would get hurt."

She tossed him a smirk. "Well, having seen you with a sword, I'd worry for your protection as well."

Both men threw their heads back in a laugh, and it was agreed upon to meet at the South Gate of Athanarel at first blue.

&&&

**Roma Vocabulary:**

_Vardo__—_horse-drawn living wagons

_Kumpania__—_band of families

_Vistas__—_clan

&&&

A/N: We apolgize for the hideously late update. EG's back from Europe and I passed my Final Theory Driving Test! Yay. Okay, I'm working on the second half of chapter 10 now, so be patient. This fic is certainly taking longer than I'd expected but it's moving along nicely plot-wise. Stay Tuned! Review!

Any comments regarding the plot/characters etc. are welcome.)


	10. Tattoo

Gypsy Queen

Chapter 10: Tattoo

Dressed in plain civilian clothing, Ezra and Keriam followed Nadav Savona down the crowded streets of Athanarel-city's working quarter. The light was just beginning to fade as the horizon, streaked with fire and blood, dimmed into a soft garden of lilacs and lavender. The more dangerous element of the city was just coming to life, being more of a nocturnal nature. Indeed, the farther from the Palace the three went, the seedier the passers-by on the street became. They were well into the slums frequented by pick-pockets, professional thieves, and smugglers by the time Ezra asked where they were headed.

"We're going to a little tavern called the Goose and Fodder Inn," Nadav reported.

Ezra marveled at the ease in which the young lord fit into the crowd with a simple change of attire. Instead of his usual well coordinated and colorful wardrobe, he had opted for dull black and gray. A spurt of amusement shot through her when she wondered if he had borrowed his 'spy' clothes from his cousin. Not that his aristocratic beauty was dulled by what he wore, and he knew it, evidenced by the beaten old riding hat he pulled low over his face.

_The clothes do make the man, _she mused, vowing to purchase some new togs for herself once she got her pay.

"My contact, who goes by the name The Hawk, chose a meeting place that would give him more of an advantage. I'm sure he believes that by meeting us in the disreputable part of town, he has the upper hand."

And indeed the surrounding city became more and more hostile the further they went. Groups milled in doorways and alleys sending them curious, assessing glances. Keriam's hand went to the hilt of his sword, and he moved half a step closer to Ezra. She sidled away from him so that if they were attacked, she had room to fight for herself. Nadav simply kept walking straight ahead until he turned down one of the better-lit avenues. Near the center, just to one side of the glow-globe street lanterns, a sign portraying a smoking canon engraved with a goose's head hung above a wide oak door. Music and shouting could be heard coming through the door, and the smell of smoke, beer, fried meat, and unwashed bodies wafted from cracks in the wood and shuttered windows.

"Ah-hah. It appears we've arrived."

Keriam hesitated on the stoop as Nadav pulled the door open and stepped inside. Ezra, having grown up following her Grandpa and "uncles" into places such as this, walked in right behind the young spymaster. Having no other option, Keriam followed.

Ezra blinked against the sting of heavy smoke that obscured the large room like thick fog. It took a moment for her perception to adjust as she remembered how to look squinting and sideways around a place such as this. In a tavern frequented by thieves and criminals, it was best not to make eye contact. Nadav seemed to know that already, but Keriam practically invited a confrontation the way he peered blatantly into the room.

She leaned into the commander's side, and whispered, "Keep your eyes on the walls and floor. Don't look at anyone full on until we find the man we're meeting."

"Why not?" he bent to ask.

"Because I want to get out of here without bloodshed," she said. "You're picking fights."

_Again_, she added silently.

Nadav touched her lightly on the elbow and gestured them over to a table near the left wall. The man who sat there waved them over with a long hand. Ezra tilted her head to the side to get a better look. The foppish hat on his head and the set of the man's shoulders were familiar. Though his face was still obscured by the dim light and even dimmer air, a sense of ironic dread started curling in Ezra's belly.

When they finally approached the table and Ezra clearly saw their contact's face, she couched a laugh as Keriam shook his head in recognition.

"The Hawk? You?" Ezra said in hushed tones. "Fearsome, indeed," she added sarcastically.

"Am I missing a joke?" Nadav asked, bouncing boyishly on the balls of his feet. His eager friendliness did not match the calculating expression in his eyes as he glanced back and forth between the man at the table and his two companions.

"Ezra, my flower, what _are_ you doing here?" Captain Caelron exclaimed, letting her jibe slide.

Ezra pulled out the chair across from the pirate captain and flopped down. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

"I am. I just ain't happy too see _him_," he indicated Keriam with a jerk of his thumb. "An' that doesn't answer the question."

She sighed. "I'm here to see if you're telling the truth to my friend here." She glanced towards Nadav. The young spymaster had remained standing, his arms crossed. And while he carried no sword, she'd bet her grandfather's vineyard that he had daggers and stilettos secreted up his sleeves and down his boots.

"Wait a minute. If _he's_ here," queried Caelron, pointing a finger at Keriam, clearly not understanding that it was the other man whom he was meeting, "then who is _he?"_ His digit swiveled to indicate Nadav.

"I'm his colleague," replied the young lord with a careless shrug. "Different departments that's all."

"Different departments, huh?" Caelron looked skeptical and somewhat discomfited but he invited both men to take a seat then flagged down one of the scurrying barmaids. "Bring me another of the house drink. The lady will take a sweet mead—unless your tastes run more toward wine now that you've had a few years on a vineyard?"

"No. I still like the same things."

He grinned at her before returning to the barmaid. "And these two will be having…?"

"I'll have the house, as well," Nadav said.

"Make that three," Keriam added.

Ezra and Caelron shared a look. That they had ordered the same thing was a sign of not knowing what a place like this served, and showed they were nervous. They knew as much about political maneuvering as anyone at Athanarel; they just grew up in a different kind of court.

"Right, then," Caelron announced as soon as the woman went away with their orders. "Shall we begin?"

"You told an intermediary of mine that you had some information on the Brotherhood of the Damned."

"And indeed I do. The question is, what are you willing to part with to gain this information?"

Nadav reached into his boot and pulled out a long packet that was bulky with coins. "Half now. Half when you've provided the information." He tossed the packet on the table. "And no, I wasn't foolish enough to bring the other half with me. It will be delivered to you after I and my colleagues are safely back at the palace."

"Oh, Ezra knows I'd never do her harm." Caelron fixed her with a charming smile. "And, as always, any friend of hers is a friend of mine."

"Just watch that he doesn't slip something into your drink," Ezra warned with a hard look at Caelron.

"How is Rider?" Caelron grinned. "Did his tattoo heal up well?"

"Alec has a tattoo?" Nadav sputtered.

"Oh, you know Rider too? Small world, huh? Let me guess – 'different departments'?" Caelron shot Nadav an all-knowing smirk, effectively shutting him up.

Ezra cut in, "He's fine, and I don't know how the ink healed up. I haven't seen it since he got it. Now are you going to tell us what you know or do I need to cross this table and pry your tongue out?"

"How anyone can resist you, my dear, I do not know." Caelron sighed and turned serious. "I have someone on my ship who was lately one of the Brotherhood's crew. He came from the ship _Astragalus_. As a matter of fact, Ezra, he may be a distant relative of yours. He's Gypsy."

Ezra shrugged. "He's Norsundrian. By Gypsy law, he's dead."

"What was a Gypsy doing on a pirate ship?" Keriam asked. At Ezra's look, he lifted his hands, palm up. "My apologies if you're offended, Ezra, but you yourself said that while Gypsies and pirates do have an alliance, you won't find much long-term fraternization."

"And Gypsies are notoriously sea-sick," Caelron agreed. "It's why the Pirate's Pearl was created by the Udatura clan."

Conversation broke off as the barmaid returned with their drinks. No one spoke again until she retreated. Caelron and Ezra took theirs right away. Nadav reached for his glass with more reservation.

"So why was this man with the Brotherhood?" Keriam repeated.

"He says that he was banished—wrongly—and took up with the pirates as a flame-keeper," Caelron said taking a drink.

Ezra nodded. "Some Gypsies will go to sea with pirate crews as something of the sort." She lifted her own glass. "They light cook fires, or keep water fresh, the waves calm, bring fair winds…. They're paid handsomely for it, too. A crew will go out of its way to lure a Gypsy out."

"Kidnap?" Keriam asked.

She swallowed before she answered, "Never. Not unless they want to break the alliance. It's too important to pirates to keep peace with the Gypsies for them to do harm to them."

"So this banished Gypsy," Nadav clarified, "he's the one with the actual information for us?"

"Exactly," Caelron said. "But you don't get near him except through me."

"You're angling for more money."

"Of course."

Ezra sighed and retreated into her sweet mead. If Caelron was going to negotiate, this could take all night. She leaned back in her seat and ran her eyes across the other patrons of the Goose and Fodder while the voices eddied around her. During her third pass, her gaze caught the intense stare of one man several tables over. He sat alone in the middle of the tavern. His dark olive skin and large nose marked him as Roma, and the strength with which he watched her group hinted that this was the very man Caelron was bargaining with Nadav to meet.

She took one last drink before she scraped her chair away from the table and stood.

"Ezra, where are you going?" Keriam asked.

"To meet the real informant." Ezra walked unerringly to the other man's table, never breaking eye contact. She pulled out the stool across from him and seated herself. "You are the one my friend over there was talking about, yes?"

"_Sastimos_. And, aye, I'm the one," he said. "I know who you are, as well."

"Do you?"

"Yes. You're the granddaughter of the Lucru Ales."

"How do you know that?"

"You're famous in more than one circle. I had only to step on land in this country to hear of the Gypsy killings and the young _doma_ who got the Prince to give my people asylum." The man's dark eyes glittered with desperation. "And you are going to be the one to help me."

"Help you do what?"

"Clear my name." He reached across the table for Ezra's hands, but she pulled them away. Ezra heard the scrape of a chair hastily pushed back, and held up her hand to stop whoever it was—Keriam, she thought—from coming unneeded to her rescue.

The Gypsy pulled in a long breath, and sat back. "I apologize if I frightened you."

"Not frightened, just wary. Roma don't banish lightly. Whatever you were accused of must have been horrible."

"They accused me of killing my father."

"That would be a good reason. And you say you didn't do it?"

He leaned in resting his weight on his folded arms. "My honor, I did not."

"The honor of an outcast?" Ezra pushed.

"I loved my father. He was the leader of my _vitsa_, and he was training me with hopes of following in his footsteps. Why would I want to kill him?"

She shrugged. "To take his place sooner?"

"I held—I _hold_ that position with the greatest respect. I would not presume to take it until I was voted in by the _natsia_."

"So you want me to speak to the _vitsa_ and convince them to accept you back?"

"I want you to speak to the Lucru Ales and convince her to hear my side. I want justice. If you can get her to talk to me, I will tell you everything I know."

"Why don't you tell me everything you know, and then I'll speak with my grandmother?"

He grinned showing white teeth. "I'm no fool. You speak with her, and then I'll tell you what I know."

Ezra smirked back at him. "What's the name of the ghost she's to speak with?"

"Mostly I'm called Djilia."

"You're a singer?"

"Yes. Will you tell her?"

"I will."

"Thank you. Thank you, _mia mora_."

Ezra stood and returned to the men she began the night with. She grabbed her glass and emptied it. She nodded to Nadav and Keriam that they were done here then turned to Caelron. "Djilia demands a higher price than you ever could. He seems to think I can get my grandmother to listen to his plea to be accepted back into his clan. Why does everyone suddenly seem to think that I'm the one to talk to people who have the real power? They don't really listen to me, you know."

"I believe they listen more than you think they do," Nadav said.

"I barely know my grandmother," Ezra argued. "Why would she do me favors? And the royals don't care what I say. Yet everyone thinks I have some kind of clout. When they want something, they think I can get it for them."

"As fascinating as this is, do you think you can not discuss your connections to the powerful in a place such as this one?" Keriam suggested.

"Your very stuffy friend is right," Caelron agreed. "This isn't the place." He turned to Nadav. "Do I still get my money? If not, I can guarantee you that you will never see my Gypsy friend again regardless of whether or not Ezra can get him a meeting with her esteemed relation."

Ezra sneered at him. "You son of a filthy dog."

"I prefer to think of myself as a good business man, my dear. My money?"

"Will be delivered to you here at third blue change," Nadav assured him. "My informant?"

"Can be reached through me by the previous channels once our Ezra has secured him an audience with her grandmother."

"Then our business here is done," the spymaster concluded.

Everyone stood, and Nadav and Caelron shook hands. Caelron even offered his hand to Keriam, who took it after glancing at Ezra. Finally, she and Caelron shared a brief hug and light kisses on cheeks.

"I hope we see each other again before I leave," he said with true wistfulness.

"I do, too," Ezra admitted. "It's been nice seeing you again. You're keeping out of trouble while you're here? No fishing in these waters?"

"Oh, I think not. Your illustrious friends allowed me to sail away last time. Why would I go and do something as idiotic as draw attention to myself in their pond?"

"Glad to know you're not a complete fool, then," she teased.

"No, no, I assure ya, there are many pieces missing. An' at least The Hawk ain't somethin' prissy like the Pirate Princess," he murmured close to her ear, laughter in his voice. She would have begged to differ but it was getting late and they could not tarry.

Caelron kissed her cheek again, and she, Keriam, and Nadav headed out the door and back to the Palace. This time all three of them had their hands on their weapons.

&&&

Nadav reconvened with the war council for an early breakfast. They expected a full report, and unfortunately, all he could give them was the beginning of a partial report.

"Unfortunately, we must wait until 'Her Highness', the Pirate Princess convenes with 'Her Majesty', the Gypsy Queen about a certain Gypsy political outcast before we get any useful information about the Brotherhood."

The confidence of those in the room drained out. The King sat back heavily in his chair. Her Majesty slapped the table top. And Alec clenched his jaw. It would just figure that Ezra would be the one to sour the plan.

Nadav could only shrug apologetically. He sat back in silence a moment before the curiosity ate him alive. "You have a tattoo?"

Alec's head snapped up. "What was that?"

"You have a tattoo?" the Queen echoed.

"Where did you hear that?"

"My contact appeared to be an old friend of Ezra's. She and Keriam seemed to know him from your last mission. A fellow captain. Caelron, I believe. How did he know you have a tattoo?"

"He was the one who talked me into getting it," Alec ground out. "I was in disguise as a pirate. I had to prove that I was one of them."

"You have a tattoo?" his mother repeated.

"No, wait, the real question is," Nadav said, "why is it that your closest family and friends didn't know that you have a tattoo, yet Ezra was in a position to see it?"

"I was drunk?" It sounded more like a question than an answer even to his own ears. Before his mother could reprimand him for being inebriated in the first place Alec continued, "To be more precise, I was drugged. Caelron drugged me."

"That still doesn't answer the question," mused Nadav out loud, "unless you're implying that Ezra took advantage of you in your semi-conscious state. She seemed like such a sweet girl;" he smirked sarcastically, "I never suspected her to be the type to take advantage of hapless young men. Especially you. You don't seem her type at_ all_."

The emphasis he placed on the last word made Alec's body flame with anger, embarrassment, and the memory of Ezra's slim golden legs. "And what would her type be?" he asked, annoyed at himself and his cousin.

"My type, of course. Tall, dark, handsome, mysterious." He wagged a finger at Alec, "Don't try to change the subject. Where is it?"

"Where is what?"

"Your tattoo!" Nadav chuckled as Alec squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.

"Keriam's got one too!" He didn't care to imagine the childish sight he made, pointing an accusatory finger at Thanyl as everyone broke out in uproarious laughter.

His last ditch effort to save himself failed when the commander said matter-of-factly with a tap over his heart, "The Sun of Remalna."

"Burn it! I want one too." The young spymaster's enthusiasm was quelled by a look from his father the Duke.

Russav, ever the diplomat provided sufficient reproach saying, "You'll break your mother's heart, my boy. But you know she'll disown you first." A laughing glance the King's way revealed a father who finally fully comprehended that his son was full-grown. The King and the Duke exchanged meaningful looks. Hadn't they once been young and reckless themselves? But considering the price of being reckless in Galdran's court, perhaps not. They could at least allow their children that freedom. "Stop interrogating your cousin, Nadav."

Nadav smiled wolfishly at Alec. "Sorry, it's a job hazard." He hardly looked repentant. Then, leaning in close he murmured just loudly enough for his cousin to hear, "Don't you think for an instant that I won't get it out of you."

The hastily called council was concluded with the decision for a summit to be held as soon as more information could be gleaned from the Gypsy outcast. Prince Kaelen offered to have it held in Sartor, the political leader this part of the Southern continent. "Geographically, we're centrally located. The leaders of Sarendan, Chwahirsland, and Marloven Hess could easily convene there. Besides, my parents would want to be a part of this." He grinned fiercely as there were nods of assent all around.

&&&

Meanwhile, Ezra was caught up in yet another argument with her grandmother. "The man murdered his father! There was no doubt about it," raged Loredana.

"And how would you know?" Ezra shot back, "You weren't there."

Loredana kept silent as she slowly bent to pull a damp skirt from the basket of newly washed laundry at her feet. She draped the cloth across the line hung between her wagon and a neighbor's without looking at Ezra while the young woman stood with arms crossed refusing to leave. Finally the Lucru Ales said, "We traveled with them once. I liked him. Such a beautiful voice! He had so much potential not just as a singer, but as a leader. He was steady, like his father. At first I didn't believe that he'd done it, but after trying him, his _entire_ vitsa petitioned to have him cast out. They found the murder weapon – his knife – covered in blood and buried with the body."

"The condemnation of his vitsa isn't sufficient evidence to prove that he did it! There has to be hard evidence, proof, witnesses!"

"There was," replied Loredana soberly. "Dukker said he happened upon an argument between father and son only candles before Fedreik was killed. I have known Dukker since he was a child, and he would not lie."

"No, but I think we've both seen that he's quick to jump to conclusions," Ezra pointed out. "Please, all I am asking is for you to meet with Djilia, hear his side."

"I have heard it. There is nothing new he can say." Loredana waved the possibility away and turned from her granddaughter to resume hanging her laundry.

Ezra stepped forward and up her hand on the line where Loredana was about to put a wet shawl. Both women glared at each other until Ezra spoke. "What if I could promise you that if you allowed Djilia an audience, the kumpania would be released?"

Loredana dropped her hand to her hip and scrutinized Ezra's face. "Can you promise me this? Can you guarantee that if I let this ghost-man in my sight the white king will let us leave this…_stock yard_?"

_No_, Ezra thought already regretting her rashness. "I'll find a way."

The old woman smacked away the young hand that blocked the laundry line, and proceeded to hang her wash. "The bargain is this: you find a way for us to be released, and I will agree to meet with Djilia."

Ezra rubbed her abused hand and backed away. "Agreed."

Though how she was going to get the King to agree to this was still a mystery.

&&&

Alaraec looked up from his work as someone batted aside the tapestry with an impatient hand. He smiled when he saw his mother enter, leading Keneric by the hand. "I thought I'd find you here," she said, settling into the cushion across from him.

"What brings you here?" he asked as he gave an enthusiastic Keneric a hug. Recent events had kept his parents busy and family dinners were no longer filled with empty chatter but talk of politics and war. Even the Merindars had postponed their trip home to take some of the heavy workload off the King, Queen, and Heir. While he was grateful for the additional help, he was more grateful for the presence of his young niece and nephew, both of whom were the only source of lighthearted moments nowadays.

"This." Smiling, she handed him a slim square box sealed with a ribbon which Keneric promptly snatched from his fingers.

"What is it, my Name Day?" He grinned but his mother kept silent as Keneric tugged the ribbon loose, pried open the lid and pulled out a card.

"Your friend, Cor-dal-yease." The boy sounded out the flowery name and passed the card to his uncle while perusing the contents of the box. "It's just a hanky!" he proclaimed, holding the said object aloft between his forefinger and thumb. "A tingly hanky."

Meliara nipped the piece of fabric from her grandson's stubby fingers. "Not just any hanky, Keneric. It's a magic one, hence the tingly feeling." She dipped a corner of the handkerchief into a pot of ink, within seconds the dark stain faded and the handkerchief was once again clean.

Alec frowned, "But I already have one of those!" For an instant, he searched his breast pocket for his handkerchief. A pause, then he remembered. "I loaned it to Ezra."

"Forget that handkerchief. This one's monogrammed, by her own hand no doubt." Alec released his nephew to take the magical article from his mother, and found against the white background, pale blue thread spelling out his initials in cursive.

"Your point?" he asked.

"What are you going to do about it?" his mother returned as she watched to make sure Keneric did not get into things he shouldn't.

"Am I supposed to do something?"

"You're as good as your father in deflecting questions aren't you?" Meliara tilted her head to the side, her features caught between a smile and a frown. "You mentioned your Name Day – your _twenty eighth_ Name Day." She tried to read her son's expression, and successfully deciphered the flicker of comprehension in his eyes. She continued before her courage failed her. "Your father won't speak to you of this because he thinks it's none of his business but I'm your mother and I'm going to speak my mind." She paused, half expecting him to interrupt, but Alec was too polite for that. Instead, he listened intently, gray eyes exuding a mixture of curiosity and amusement. His growing embarrassment was evident only in his lightly flushed cheeks.

Mel instantly felt guilty for barging into the alcove without so much as a by-your-leave. In a soft voice, she said, "Surely the Marquise of Avalnae isn't the first lady to express an interest? Nor will she be the last if you do not make some serious overtures."

He cut to the chase. "You wish me to marry then, and soon."

"It's not just that. I just want you to be happy, and it seems to me that marriage to the right person is happiness. Then there's all this talk of Norsunder invading and you working yourself to the bone." She rose from the cushion and came around the table to sit next to him. Her small hands reached out for his larger one. "I admit that I know next to nothing about the art of flirting and dalliance – even after your father's tutelage – but I know of love. And hiding yourself away in political affairs is not the way to go about either. Of that much I am sure."

"I will have to take your word. I'm afraid my education in both areas is sorely lacking." Alec leaned his head against his mother's shoulder as she proceeded to stroked his back, the way she used to when he was small.

"That is easily remedied. I'm sure Nadav, or even your uncle Russav provided Tamara isn't in the palace, would be more than happy to demonstrate the correct art of winning a lady's affection. Both of the Savona men are lady-mad."

His head jerked up from the crook of her neck. "Not Nadav. Tara tells me that he's enamored of Lady Cordalyse. He barely looks at another female, she says."

"Hmm…" she tapped her frowning lips, "that would be a problem. Perhaps Flauvic could give you some advice, though he and your sister didn't precisely dally and flirt so much as fall together unexpectedly."

Mel's train of thought was interrupted when her son asked, "I can't help but notice you didn't suggest Papa."

The queen's laughter rang out, sudden and unfettered. "Your father has experience in _avoiding_ the ladies of the court, not approaching them. He is quite well versed in making wild, quarrelsome, and feisty women fall madly in love with him though. So unless you're of a mind to make such a woman fall in love with you, don't ask him." She grinned. "Don't tell him I said that."

"Mama, you're not wild or quarrelsome!" Alec leaned away from his mother to look at her, and saw her shaking with barely repressed laughter. "Besides," he added as an afterthought, "I like 'feisty', makes life a little more exciting."

"And your life isn't exciting enough?" Mel gestured towards the writing table littered with documents.

"Paperwork is boring," replied Alec with a straight face as Keneric toddled off towards the shelves to explore.

Mel shook her head with a smile, exasperated. Patting his knee she got to her feet then bent to cup his chin with a hand. "Keep the handkerchief or not, it's your choice. But understand that either action has its consequences." She dropped a kiss on to his forehead, straightened and called Keneric to her.

As the Queen and her grandson turned to leave, Alec asked, "How do you know if you've found the 'right person'?"

Mel paused in the doorway, one hand poised in the midst of lifting the tapestry. She turned her head just enough to look over her shoulder at her eldest child. "Most times, you don't. Sometimes, they find you."

The tapestry fell back into place almost noiselessly as a pair of footsteps faded into the distance. Alec stared at the handkerchief in his hands for a moment then folded and returned it to its box along with the card that had accompanied it. While retying the ribbon, he made a mental note to get his own handkerchief back from Ezra.

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Translations:

_Doma_—"lady", an honorary title

_Natsia_—nation

_Sastimos_—"to your health;" used as a greeting

_Mia mora_—my friend

_Vitsas_—clan (EDIT: Please note that it is "vitsa" and not "vista" as was mentioned in chapter 9)

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A/N

Pixie: Cordalyse serves kind of the same function as Tamara to help show that Alec is much sought after, but she, as a character, is very different. Tamara is crafty, conniving, and downright mean when she gets jealous. Cordalyse doesn't have a mean bone in her body. She's terribly sweet, and very diffident. Yes, she would like a crown, but she's not going to get her competition drunk to humiliate her. That's a big part of why Nadav likes her. After dealing with spies, and the female members of his family, he wants someone simple and sweet to love.

Please leave your reviews and comments! We understand that some readers are unwilling or unable to comment but we appreciate your readership all the same D


	11. Tempers

Gypsy Queen

Chapter 11: Tempers

Ezra could hardly believe that she got an audience with the King and Queen; that they were waiting expectantly for her to speak. _This is just rich,_ she thought smugly. Only Rider's presence dimmed her inner glow of satisfaction. As much as she would hate to admit it out loud, she was always nervous that she would do something to look like an idiot in front of him.

She had spent the greater part of the day before—supposedly her rest day—hunting the Prince down. She finally found him in the stables where he had just returned from a morning ride with his cousin, Lord Nadav. _Hmph! The country's planning for war and he's out on a pleasure jaunt._ And she told him as much, despite the distraction of his tousled hair and the vee of bare chest through the open collar of his shirt.

He returned her annoyance with a laugh, and told her they had been honing their skills with the sword at the practice courts, but he turned serious when she mentioned Loredana's request, and– to her surprise – readily agreed to set up a meeting between her and his parents.

"Well," Nadav prompted her, "aren't you going to say anything? You don't get an audience with the King and Queen with a snap of your fingers you know."

Rider had brought her into the Royal Family's inner sanctum, a family room of sorts with the young ones amusing themselves on the carpeted floor, and the adults lounging in plush chairs or reclining sofas. Everyone looked so comfortable and at ease. Everyone except her, that is. She sat stiffly between Elestra and Lord Nadav, and across from the two monarchs, separated by the low tea table between them. Was it just her or was the temperature in the room rising?

"Have some tea," offered the pregnant Marquise in an obvious attempt to soothe Ezra's nerves. She leaned over to pick up the teapot despite the obstacle her growing belly posed.

Rider beat her to it, standing just by his mother's armchair, "Let me," he said, picking up the heavy teapot and pouring her a fragrant cup of liquid. He handed the cup to Ezra, all hospitality. She took it hesitantly. After taking a sip of the refreshing brew Ezra found her tongue. "Your Majesties, the Lucru Ales has requested to be allowed to leave the palace grounds in exchange for granting the exiled gypsy, Djilia, another trial."

"Nadav has mentioned this Djilia. It appears that he may have some information on the Brotherhood and Norsunder, is that right?" asked the King over his steepled fingers.

Ezra nodded, her teacup rattling against its saucer as she set it back down a tad nervously. Once again, she cursed herself for being tongue-tied in front of the King. She didn't have this trouble with Elestra, Nadav, or Rider. The Marquis of Merindar gave her a bit of a pause, but nothing like the feeling of inadequacy that the King inspired. She hated feeling small and differential. It made her look for a way to regain some footing. She licked her lips and made a glance at Rider who stood impassive at the side of the room, his hands behind his back.

_Was that a smirk?_ she wondered. The mere thought—fabricated, she admitted to herself—was enough to give her the courage to straighten her shoulders and meet the eyes of everyone in the room, regardless of station or rank.

While he had changed into more formal attire, the perfectly mussed look he wore earlier in the stables kept appearing in her mind's eye. _How can anyone be perfectly mussed? _Her musing was cut off by him actually speaking. "You're well aware that the Gypsies are here for their own safety. We cannot ensure their well-being beyond these walls, only attempt to prevent any harm from befalling them."

She nodded again as she tugged uncomfortably at her collar.

"Fortunately, the acts of violence against the Gypsies have only been isolated incidents near the coast and the fervor about the pirate attacks are dying down," added the Queen. "Perhaps a compromise?" She exchanged a look with her husband who indicated that she should continue. "The Gypsies may leave the palace proper, but they must remain within the walls of Remalna-city."

"Under guard?" asked Ezra.

"Preferably, yes," replied the Queen. "Now please, don't scowl at me so. We only have their best interests at heart. I would hate for something to happen to them in my own city if I could prevent it."

Ezra shrugged, noticing that the King had left the negotiations to his wife, choosing instead to watch her with that assessing gaze. She wondered what about herself he found so fascinating, and fought the impulse to check if she had spilt tea down her uniform. "They'll see it as pretty much the same arrangement. Besides, the Gypsies can defend themselves with magic."

"We wouldn't want them burning down the capitol now would we?" added Nadav. Ezra glared at him, was he on her side or not?

The heat was definitely getting to her. She blew out a breath in frustration. "Djilia will only tell us what he knows after he gets an audience with my grandmother, who will only meet with him if the Gypsies are outta here. If you don't want Djilia's information then save me the hassle of being the middle man because I've got better things to do with my time, such as all the training you're making me go through!"

Nadav held up his hands in defeat and shrugged.

"No guard then but they have to stay within sight of the palace until further notice. I'll give word to escort them out of the palace immediately." It was obvious that the King's decision was final and that no amount of haggling on her part would change his mind.

"How can we guarantee that your grandmother holds up her end of the bargain? And that Djilia would do the same, for that matter?" queried Rider.

"Leave that to me," replied Ezra, still annoyed at herself for losing her temper in front of these aristocrats. _It's no wonder that the nobility tend to regard commoners as rude and uncouth, _she thought, vowing not to let them get the better of her again. "Unless you want to join in the fun? She did seem quite taken with you," she added sarcastically.

"Don't mind if I do," he returned evenly despite the warning glint in his eye.

Ezra winced knowing she'd walked into that one.

"I'll get in touch with the Hawk and Djilia," chimed Nadav, already rising from his seat.

It took a little while more to get the details finalized, written, and signed before she was allowed to leave with one of two identical documents authorizing the release of the Gypsies in exchange for the Lucru Ales accepting Djilia's terms, and the latter providing information about the Brotherhood. With a terse nod at the King and Queen, and after bidding Elestra goodbye Ezra headed for the doors with brisk strides. She was walking along the corridor leading to the more public areas of the palace when Rider caught up with her.

She heard the purposeful footfalls behind her but ignored it, willing him to go away while lengthening her stride as far as it could go. She had to deal with her cranky grandmother, royals who bargained like fishwives, and an exiled gypsy. She did not need perfectly mussed princes distracting her, annoying her, or grabbing her.

He had somehow managed to accomplish all three even before half the day had gone by; first in the stables, then during the meeting, and now he did not even bother to address her, just clamped a hand around her elbow and pulled her to a stop. "Let me go!" she yelled, attempting to shake off his hold on her as she turned to glare.

"Hush! Do you want the whole of Athanarel to hear you?" he admonished, bringing a finger to his lips. "Rumors and gossip spread fast here. Unless you want to be the talk of every tongue from duchess to scullery maid, I suggest you keep your voice down. Don't want them thinking I'm doing anything improper, do we?"

She huffed, but remained silent. She was too aware that she was already well-talked of in the palace as it was. She didn't need any more stories going around about her.

When the Prince saw she was complying, he nodded. "Are you all right? You held your own pretty well in there." The hand around her elbow tightened, whether in concern or as a threat she did not know.

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Alaraec had not expected such a violent reaction from Ezranya, and chided himself for being presumptuous. To think he had hoped to exchange a discrete word with her in private without shouting down the length of a corridor. Why was it he could never simply exchange a civil word with her?

She didn't immediately answer his question. Instead she crossed her arms and took a combative step toward him. Startled, he backed up a pace or two and held his hands palms up in the universal sign of surrender, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. I only meant to congratulate you on your negotiating skills and ensure that you were well."

He didn't know what she saw when she fixed her cool green eyes on him but it triggered a voluble wail, "How do you look perfectly mussed?" Her voice echoed down the hallway, and both of them flinched.

"Perfectly mussed?" he echoed in a manner much more sedate. "Isn't that oxymoronic?" He grinned when she slapped a hand over her eyes and groaned. "What's wrong with being perfectly mussed? And what ever brought that question to your mind?"

"Nothing. Never mind," she mumbled then began to pace. He realized that she paced when she was deep in thought or worried about something, and that the sight of her petite frame traipsing back and forth like clockwork was strangely adorable.

"Are you sure?" he probed, still smiling. "You're going to crash into something if you don't start watching where you're pacing."

She let her hand drop from her eyes and folded her arms, coming to a stop in front of him before whipping out a knife from her boot and waving it under his nose threateningly. Already well acquainted with her violent tendencies, he barely twitched. "I'll tell you what's wrong. You using big words like oxy…urgh!"

"You mean _grandiloquent_words like _oxymoronic_" he corrected, his voice rough with humor. The tip of her blade rested under his left eye and pressed down with a slight pressure as she stepped in close. He blinked. "You sure you want to make me one-eyed? I don't think I'll look half as dashing as you would with an eye patch. And perhaps someone forgot to mention that you're not supposed to be carrying a knife around. It's against regs for recruits."

The knife lifted from his face and she ran a finger along its keen edge experimentally. "I'm feeling a little hot and bothered by all this shit you people have been making me do, so don't push it." His brows lifted and he repressed a smile at her choice of words. _Hot and bothered?_ She either didn't realize her verbal faux pas or chose to ignore the slip as she continued. "And forgive me for going against regs, but I just thought I'd better watch my own back being the only ex-pirate recruit here."

"Your friends made it through all right. Why should it be any different for you?" he returned.

"Coz I'm a girl. Plus, some people think that I've got connections with you folks, and that I'm getting it easy with all that accelerated learning and skipping of classes to run _your_ errands." She poked him in the chest, knife waving expressively in the other hand. "To add insult to injury, there's talk of your tattoo going around the barracks and me being the only person around here who's seen it! Do you see the kinda picture people have in their heads about me? It ain't pretty. It's like my picture of Melisande only a million times worse coz at least she was honest about what she was. They all think I'm here under some pretext to be your doxy."

"Oh," was all Alec could get out. "We'll have to deal with it then." He looked down into Ezra's upturned face. The anger had more or less drained out of it, what remained was exhaustion and a minor irritation. He patted her upper arm, the one not wielding the knife, awkwardly, "Don't worry. People talk all the time. If it helps, rumor that I'm dallying with this lady or another will soon supplant the tattoo business. Although I'm afraid it probably won't help with the rest of it."

She shook her head, and he saw a faint grimace cross her face as she pressed a palm to her belly. _Was she unwell?_ Then she shoved the knife back into her boot and straightened her back. As she turned to leave he remembered his true purpose for holding her back. "Ezra, could I have my handkerchief back?"

"What handkerchief?"

"The one I loaned you when you were dripping lemon juice all over the place. I'd like it back please." When she had no reaction he added warningly, "Don't tell me you lost it."

"I didn't. I just put it to good use." He recognized that glint in her eye and it did not bode well for his handkerchief.

"What use, exactly?" he asked carefully.

"You know, for cleaning. My weapons, my gear, my bunk. On occasion I polish my boots." She shrugged nonchalantly.

Only his courtly upbringing prevented him from spluttering in dismay. "You polished your boots with my handkerchief?"

"Real men don't carry handkerchiefs. They smell of sweat and salty sea spray." She was slowly inching away from him despite the fact that she thoroughly enjoyed his unhappiness.

"You mean real _sailors_ don't carry handkerchiefs. For hygiene purposes, I do." He took hold of her wrist to stop her from escaping.

"For hygiene purposes I'm keeping it!" She smirked as she struggled to free herself from his grasp. She brought her free hand around to pry his fingers off, to no avail. He easily pulled her scrabbling fingers away with his other hand. Seeing no other way out she stilled her useless movements. "You don't ever learn, do you? You shouldn't give me things if you expect them back."

"Give it back to me before I frisk you," he growled.

"Who's making a scene in the middle of the hallway now, yer Highness?" she taunted.

His annoyance got the better of him, and Alec squeezed her wrists tighter. His patience was wearing thin. So, apparently, was hers. Ezra rotated her right wrist around and out, managing to break his hold. With a jerk she shoved him against the wall, and he barely missed colliding with a vase before a floor-to-ceiling window. He still had a hold on one of her wrists, and his suddenly short temper wanted to cause her a bit of pain. Alec twisted her arm, and pushed back to lock it in an unnatural position while he promised, "You're not shaking me off until you return me my handkerchief."

"I'm not giving it back!"

Alec shook a lank of hair that had come loose from his braid out of his eyes. He was aware of how ridiculous they must look. They were acting like children. He opened his mouth to call a halt to the whole thing, but he found that undefined something in Ezra's eyes flicker again. _When was the last time she had that look in her eye?_

He got his answer when she brought her loosened hand up and clapped it against his left cheek, her fingers gripping the side of his head and tangling in his hair. Swiftly, she stood on the tips of her toes, pressed up against him and brought his face down to hers. His head jerked back, thudding it against the wall—an involuntary action caused by surprise. She ignored it, crushing her lips to his with such force that his teeth hurt.

Her tongue darted between his lips and he tasted coffee and hot chocolate, the strange combination she drank called mocha. If she had expected him to release his hold on her as he had the last time she kissed him, she was sadly mistaken. An instant recollection of the conversation he had had with his mother just days before flashed in his mind. What she had said was true. He had been so preoccupied with work these past few years. So busy in fact, that he had forgotten what the conflagration of physical desire felt like. It burned through him now, fierce and intense. He opened his mouth wider and kissed her back, savoring the taste of her before sucking lightly on her upper lip – the lingering flavor of listerblossom tea. He felt her breath catch in her throat, and for a moment they were both surprised to find themselves just kissing, with no further motives than enjoying themselves and the shivering waves of electricity on their skin. This time she was the one to pull back, indignant, furious, and confused.

Ezra pulled away and stumbled back, refusing to meet his eyes. "I'm still not giving it back." Her voice came out as a strangled murmur before she turned and made to leave the corridor.

He opened his mouth to speak but, was interrupted by a runner dashing towards them, his intended destination most likely the Royal suites that lay beyond. "Your Highness!" the man exclaimed, steps slowing as he approached, staring at their befuddled expressions and Ezra's sudden shyness. His frank curiosity blanked into a business-like façade. "Your Highness, Sarendan has been attacked."

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The next morning, Djilia stared unhappily at his hands as Loredana and Ezra argued over the agreement Ezra had signed with the King and Queen. Dukker scowled at him. As the most likely person to succeed Loredana in leading the kumpania and a prospective candidate for the post of Lucru Ales in the next elections, as well as Djilia's accuser, Loredana had invited him to join them. Djilia began to feel claustrophobic in the small caravan.

"You said that you'll speak to him if I got you released. You're released! You're just not allowed to go far, far away." Ezra waved a hand vaguely over her head to emphasize her point.

"That's not good enough!" exclaimed Loredana, banging her fist on the table.

"It's the best I could do! They'd actually wanted to set guards on you too." Ezra fumed. "Now, you're gonna listen to what he's got to say so that the rest of us can hear the other stuff he has to say."

Loredana huffed in annoyance at herself. How could she have forgotten the specifics! These people were always talking about the details, finding loopholes to serve their purposes, and ignoring the context in which things were said. When she had said 'released', she had meant free to go where they will, not restrained like a dog on a leash. "Forget it. It's done. At least we're won't be penned in like chickens no more."

Ezra sat back in her seat, relieved that her grandmother had given in rather easily by her standards.

"Well, what have you got to say for yourself that I haven't already heard?" the Lucru Ales demanded.

"I have an alibi," replied Djilia, lifting a challenging gaze to meet her stony one.

"Then why didn't you say so… oh, three years ago?" Loredana asked. Dukker snorted in derision and Ezra noted the sweat beading on his brow.

"I feared you wouldn't have believed her because she's _gadje_."

"And how would you know a _gadje_ girl?" asked Dukker scornfully.

"We met when she came to watch me sing."

Loredana held up a hand to silence Dukker. "Such questions are needless, Dukker," she reprimanded. "Why did you assume I would not believe her?"

"Many Roma consider all _gadje_ to be liars. I did not know at the time that you would have your own reasons to believe her." He looked pointedly at Ezra.

"Now you know I do," Loredana replied with a huff. "Your alibi?"

"I met her after the quarrel with my father – Spirits rest his Soul. She will tell you that I spoke the truth when I said that my father was alive the last time I saw him, and that I was with her when he was murdered." Djilia clasped his hands together to stop them from trembling.

"Where is this girl? What's her name?"

"Sarala. She lives in the village of Avonrel, just outside of Remalna-city."

"And she'll speak for you if you ask her to?" Loredana regarded him thoughtfully then glanced at Ezra. "Who's to say she'll not be lying? After all, she is your friend. She could be lying to help you. Even so, why didn't she come forth with your version of the truth when you were cast out?"

"I bid her hold her tongue as her father would not allow her to vouch for me. He did not approve."

"Then why the sudden change of heart?" Loredana sensed that there was more to this girl than Djilia let on for him to protect her so. True, the word of a _gadje_ was not readily believed, and the _gadje_ in general did not fraternize with the Gypsies. However, it seemed that he had grown desperate in his exile from his tribe and clan.

"Because she is her own woman now with no father, brother or husband to beat her into obedience. And she is still willing to help me clear my name." He ran a shaky hand through his hair. "I made sure of it on my arrival to this city."

"You understand that even if this _rakli_ speaks for you, it may not be enough to clear your name." Loredana almost felt sympathetic for this promising man who had been brought so low.

"But the woman will be biased, Lucru Ales! She'll want to save her lover," exclaimed Dukker, appalled that Loredana would even consider letting the girl plead Djilia's case before the clan.

"As you're biased against him?" Ezra countered liking the man less and less. "The only evidence we have against Djilia is your testimony of his supposed guilt. It's your word against his."

"You are not in a position to judge me, whoever your grandmother is," Dukker reminded her bitterly. He quieted when the grandmother in question cleared her throat.

"I did not doubt your word before, Dukker, and I do not doubt them now" the Lucru Ales assured him. "But perhaps we may have been too hasty when we cast him out. You did not see him commit the murder. You only witnessed a quarrel between a father and his son – a common enough occurrence." Loredana rapped her fingers rhythmically on the table top, thinking.

Djilia's face suffused with hope at her words but the quelling look Ezra sent him extinguished some of his excitement.

"Let's not go jumping to conclusions, shall we?" Ezra interrupted again. "The girl may or may not lie," she turned to Djilia, "and you may or may not have killed your father. All things said and done, you still have to prove that you did not commit murder or that someone else did. And you," she indicated her grandmother, "should give him the chance to prove his innocence not just by word but by deed."

"And you'll be vouching for his integrity, I suppose?" snarled Dukker.

"I can't say. He seems decent enough to me, but I barely know the man. This is only the second time we've met. But I can vouch for the man who vouches for him. Caelron is the most cocksure bastard I've ever met, but he's a good judge of character and an honest man. For a pirate." Ezra leaned forward in her seat. "Give the poor man a chance, won't you?" she appealed to Loredana.

The Lucru Ales considered for a moment, weighing the situation in her mind, recalling her impression of a younger Djilia and did not find him wanting. "One chance," she said, holding up a finger to make her point clear. "On the grounds that there is only circumstantial proof, I will give you a temporary reprieve. Prove your innocence within a year and you'll be reinstated. However, if you fail to do so, your banishment from the _natsia_ will be complete. You will be stricken from memory, do you understand?"

"I understand. The Spirits will give me fair judgment." Djilia kissed his fingers and pressed them to his heart in gratitude before coming to his feet. The other three did likewise, Loredana extending a hand to properly receive his thanks. He bowed, bringing the back of her hand to his forehead, properly paying his respects to an elder.

He rose from his bow and looked at Ezra expectantly, clearly expecting her to pay her respects as well. She shook her head. Instead Ezra bid her grandmother goodbye with a reminder to stay well within sight of the palace, and to send word if there was any trouble.

When she left the gardens with Djilia the other gypsies gave them a wide berth as they hastily packed up their belongings under the guards' watchful eyes. Djilia sighed, "When can I rejoin the _vitsa_?"

"After you're done telling us all about the Brotherhood and Norsunder. Which is what you're gonna do once we get to the Green Anteroom. Hurry! We're already late." She moved at a brisk pace and he hurried to keep up.

"I do not mean to offend, but why did you not give your grandmother the kiss of greeting?" he asked, slightly out of breath, and perturbed by this young woman and her compelling air of authority. She barely acknowledged the people they passed—servants, guards, and nobles alike; and they seemed to move aside to let her though. Perhaps they sensed the urgency in her purposeful stride.

"I'm not full Gypsy. It might be an insult to presume such familiarity. Ah, here we are!"

Without any hesitation, the footmen opened the door for her, and, one step behind Ezra, he entered a room decorated with light green wallpaper, and molded with the fine green Colorwood that Remalna was famous for. Djilia felt a bit intimidated by the luxury, but the young woman at his side walked forward without fear.

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Ezra, cheeks pink as much with embarrassment as with her previous exertion, continued forward until she reached the low table the monarchs, nobles, and military leaders clustered around. They all looked up to watch her approach. While she wished it was in anticipation of her expertise, she thought it was probably because they'd heard what had happened between her and Rider the day before. She still cursed her stupid self for kissing him.

She felt like a fool for letting him get to her. His hair had fallen into his eyes, and he had been angry with her. He so rarely showed emotion, so she had done the idiotic to prove something to him and to achieve some semblance of triumph.

And damn her faithless body for enjoying it. The last time she had felt like that had been with Willem. Responding to Rider like that felt wrong somehow. Even though she no longer grieved for Willem, the thought of wanting someone else was new and uncomfortable. Especially when that person was Rider.

It was the King's voice that broke the odd tension. "I take it this is our informant?"

Ezra remembered herself, and gave the King a short bow before she answered, "Yes. This is Djilia d'Flacara Estre" She gestured him forward. "Djilia, this is His Majesty King Vidanric Renselaeus of Remalna, Her Majesty Queen Meliara, His Highness Prince Alaraec, and a whole bunch of other people that you'll get to know real well as you spill everything you know about Norsunder. Feel free to start anytime."

Djilia lifted an eyebrow to ask if she was entirely sane or no. Ezra just wanted to get out of that room as quickly as possible. Hopefully without looking at Rider.

The Queen motioned Djilia to a space that was left open for him near Lord Nadav. "Please, take a seat, sir. With this newest attack, we could use all the insight we can glean."

"I shall tell you all I know, Your Majesty," the man said as he gratefully took his seat. "Sailing for Norsunder was never what I intended to do with my life."

While Djilia began his tale, Nadav waved Ezra down to the seat open on the other side of him. It was several places across and down from where the Prince sat, and Ezra gave thanks for that.

"How did you end up with the Brotherhood?" one of the military men asked Djilia.

"Pirates often sign Gypsies on as part of their crew. The Romani have the ability to work with the elements; that is why we call our kin-tribes for them. Aboard a ship, we are responsible for lighting and controlling fires, keeping water fresh, weather magic…the Ravna are sought after to forge blades and keep them sharp. There are charms to do some of those things, but having a real person present is best.

"When I joined the crew of the _Bone Catcher_, they were independent, though they swore allegiance with Baron Fernend on Tourmaline. The Baron was the first with ties to the Brotherhood and Norsunder. When my captain officially joined the Brotherhood of the Damned, he brought his crew along. It was join or die. You may think I chose wrong, but I would rather be here to tell you all this than rotting at the bottom of the ocean."

"Personally, I'm glad you're here, too," Nadav said. "We haven't been able to learn enough to fill an inkwell about the connection between the pirate attacks and Norsunder. Any information you can give us will be useful."

"For instance," the Prince added, "do you know of the Lady Zirellia?"

"The Death Lady?" Djilia shuddered. "Oh, yes. I know of her. She and the Emperor's man came together. She can make a body freeze on a warm day. She will force a crew of sensible men to behave like the mindless dead."

"Mind control," the Marquis of Merindar said. "Most likely a powerful form of suggestion. Once that suggestion is planted, it can be recalled again and again."

"Can a simple suggestion do that?" Rider asked. Ezra had to deduce the skepticism from his voice because she refused to look up that length of the table to see what expression was on his face. "I remember what it felt like to be under her sway. Being frozen is a very good description. And I don't remember her planting any suggestions."

"She makes you look in her blind eye," Djilia said. "She catches you with it, and you're hers."

"The eye perhaps catches the attention," Flauvic corrected. "But then she would need to implant the actual suggestion that she later uses to turn people into 'the mindless dead.'"

The Queen nodded. "In that way it is one of the strongest and the weakest forms of magic. In essence, it's an illusion. It depends on the mind's willingness to accept the suggestion. As soon as the mind refuses to believe what it was told, the hold is broken."

"But we all know how powerful a thing the mind can be," the Duke of Savona interjected. "If the suggestion was convincing enough, a person may never stop believing it regardless of any proof to the contrary."

Elestra of Merindar frowned at her brother. "Poor Alec. I wonder what she suggested to you."

Alec grimaced back. "I honestly have no idea. It was as if I was compelled to do as she asked."

"What might she be able to make him do with that suggestion?" the King asked with a hint of urgency in his voice.

At the thought of what Zirellia might make the Crown Prince do with the bit of nasty she left behind in his head, Ezra dropped her head into her hand. "This is why I hit him," she muttered as the man in question spoke over her.

"I was in disguise, Father," Rider assured him. "Zirellia had no idea I was anyone important. She probably believes that the man she entrapped is dead."

"Still, I would rest better knowing that any suggestion was out of your head, or at least that we were working on a way to get it negated," his father said.

"Someone with enough magic and training may be able to find it and remove the trigger," Flauvic said.

"It would have to be someone I trusted enough to let inside my mind," the Prince insisted.

"I'm writing Oria now," his mother said as she pulled a blank sheet of parchment toward her and dipped a quill into ink. "Hopefully she'll get here before you leave for the summit. Or I can have her meet you in Sartor. Perhaps that would be best."

"And speaking of the summit," Prince Kaelan-dei interjected for the first time causing Ezra to look down the long table at him. "I've sent word to the other heads of state to inform them that we have moved the date of the summit up. After the plunder of Sarendan, everyone is anxious to meet."

The King nodded, clasping his hands together as he thought for a moment. Finally, he pulled in a long breath and focused on Ezra. "I'm afraid this means that we are going to need you in combat readiness a bit sooner than planned. You're doing well in your training, by all accounts. To achieve officer status, however, there are a few tests to pass. I'll find someone to take charge your command tutelage so that you will be ready in time to attend the summit."

"Excuse me!?" exclaimed Ezra.

The King looked at Ezra. "Was there something you didn't understand, Captain?"

"Yes. The part about me going to the summit."

"I thought it was understood that you would be attending."

"This is the first I've heard of it," she argued.

"I apologize if my intentions weren't clear, but we do need you as our pirate expert to convince the other nations that this really is connected to Norsunder and not simply a heavy pirate season."

"I'll handle finding someone," Rider told his father.

"What about Djilia!" Ezra pressed the King. "Won't you need him to convince them as well?"

"Of course," the King said. He then turned to the Gypsy. "If you would please consent to attend the summit with our delegates it would be most helpful."

Ezra wanted to hide her head again, but dared not. This was why the royal types had such a bad reputation for doing what suited them best at the moment. One person they ask to join their side, the other they coerce.

"I simply wish to rejoin my _vitsa_," Djilia said. "I have but one year to prove my innocence. I would not wish to waste that time with affairs bigger than I am."

"What if we offered you the resources with which to prove your innocence," the Queen bargained. "I'm sure that there would be something that could be done for you if you would help us but a little more."

Djilia looked across Nadav to Ezra. His eyes pleaded for guidance, but she only shrugged. "You're the one with the choice to go or not. It has to be yours."

The Gypsy sighed as he thought, and finally came to a decision. "I would most appreciate any help that could be given to help me clear my name. If that means pushing back the time when I am to reunite with my people, so be it."

"Good," the King approved.

The rest of the meeting focused on the reasons behind Norsunder's attacks. Djilia did not know much about the inner workings of the court, only what gossip filtered down to the pirates. He did know that the large country had suffered yet another poor growing season due to hail storms and heavy rain that eroded the naturally thin topsoil. It was all the people in the pubs and taverns of Norsunder spoke of. He had heard as well that trade negotiations with one of the countries across the western sea had broken down because Norsunder did not have the means to pay for their goods. The commoners were beginning to starve.

The nobility heard this with understanding beginning to dawn. Starving peasants meant the possibility to rebellion. None of the Norsundrian ruling class would want that, so they had turned to other means of acquiring food and wealth. Especially the latter. The Emperor's court was known across the continent for its extravagance.

"Why don't the Norsundrian royals just combine their money and buy the food their people need?" Ezra asked.

"That would be the question," said Savona. "Though it's quite possible the concept of sharing has never occurred to them."

"It's definitely never occurred to Dmitrios, I can guarantee it," the Queen muttered.

What apparently did occur to the Emperor was to disguise his yearly raids on the surrounding countries as pirate attacks. When that alone did not satisfy the growing need for food and supplies, the Brotherhood was organized to strategically attack the largest port towns and naval bases. Since they had the proficiency in over-water attacks, and since they sailed under their own banner not that of Norsunder, Emperor Dmitrios believed that he could soften the smaller countries defenses, or at least re-direct their armies toward the coast so that his own infantry and cavalry could come in from the north and take the smaller countries before Sartor had the time to send in soldiers to aide them.

"At least that was what my captain thought when he received the orders to stagger his attacks last year, and then wait until word was given to raid this year in the assigned city."

"It seems logical," Prince Kaelan admitted.

"And now that we know what will be their most likely plan of attack, we can begin to form a defense," Nadav said with a sigh. "Thank you, Djilia. You have been absolutely invaluable."

"I am glad I could be of service."

Ezra looked down at the map of the continent, and at the markers showing where the attacks were to take place. It seemed that Norsunder planned to take not only Remalna, but several of its small neighbors, and half of a larger one. All the countries on the list were agricultural boons, and most had other valuable resources that Norsunder craved. If the Emperor's plan succeeded, Norsunder would be not only the largest country on the continent, it would be the most powerful. And then they surely would not stop until they had the rest under their control as well.

Suddenly the abstract notions of battle strategy that Ezra had recently begun learning became frighteningly real. After the meeting was dismissed, she returned to her training with a new appreciative demeanor. Just before the cadets turned in for the night, Keriam came to inform her that her training in command would begin tomorrow before breakfast in the library. She thanked him for informing her personally adding, "I'll see you tomorrow then."

&&&

_Rakli_ – Non Gypsy girl

&&&

A/N: I forgot to update! In any case, the next chapter isn't done yet. So you guys might have another long wait to live through. Thanks to GypsyHick for reminding me to update and also kudos to her for the "knife against regs" idea. It got us thinking of fluffy opportunities. And tadaa! Nice fluff moment. Hope you enjoyed it.

Any ideas you may have are welcome. See, we incorporated GypsyHick's idea! So we do listen to our readers. You guys rock!

Regards,

FS&EG


	12. Rumors

Gypsy Queen

Chapter 12: Rumors

"Have you heard the rumors?" asked Meliara, flopping down by her husband's side as he sat cross-legged by the low table in his study, scribbling furiously despite the late hour.

"What rumors?" returned Vidanric, not even bothering to look up from his work. Mel frowned at him, inadvertently mirroring his look of intense concentration.

"Don't tell me you don't know anything because I know you know everything." She peered at what he was working on.

"You lost me halfway through that sentence. I'm busy." She got a quick glance from solemn grey eyes but years of marriage had taught her to look past the expressionless façade and into the mind. The blond head dipped back down in an instant, but she caught the slight compression of lips and crinkling of eyes.

"And I'm curious!" she returned insistently.

"Aren't you always?" he mused. Exasperated, Mel plucked the quill from his hand and set it aside. Vidanric knew he would not be left in peace if he did not satisfy his wife's curiosity, and so opened his hands in submission. "How may I be of service, Meliara dearest?"

"The gossipmongers are saying that Alec and Mistress Fyn are having an affair!" She looked positively aghast at the notion, and sought to calm her nerves by finishing off the remnants of his listerblossom tea.

"And what concern is that of ours?" He asked, pulling her into his arms and onto his lap after she had set down the fragile porcelain teacup.

"He's our son! We're _supposed_ to be concerned about him."

"He's also old enough to know what's good for him." He pressed a kiss to her temple, trailing his fingers through her hair from shoulder to hip, watching in fascination as the rest of it pooled on the floor beside him.

"Is she good for him?" She laid her head on his shoulder, a finger picking at the embroidery at his cuff.

"Good for him or good _enough_ for him?"

Mel pursed her lips and sat back on her heels. "You do cut to the chase, don't you?"

"I'm too old to go running cross country after you, sweetheart."

Mel sighed. "Is it all right to feel this way? To feel she isn't good enough? Am I reading too much into this? They're just rumors, after all."

"Yes, to all three. But the real question is whether _anyone_ is good enough for him." He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "This isn't an after effect of Elestra and Flauvic, is it? They did turn out none the worse for wear despite the dire predictions you made for their relationship."

She snorted into the crook of his neck. "It's not the same thing. Flauvic tried to kill me, threatened you and the kingdom, and kidnapped my daughter. Aren't those just causes for worry?" He felt her smile against his skin, then the intake and exhalation of breath indicating silent laughter. "He turned out all right, didn't he? But it's still strange to think of him as my son-in-law and the father of my grandchildren." She lifted her head from his shoulder and kissed his cheek. "What do you think of Mistress Fyn, then?"

"Honestly? She reminds me of you. The other day in the parlor when she eloquently expressed her frustrations by yelling at us all, I was slapped with déjà vu. There I was back in Renselaeus having dinner with you and your brother that first night, going weak in the knees at the sight of you in a clean dress."

"Is that a backhanded compliment? The kind you give to people who you think are too stupid to see the insult?" He laughed and she huffed mock angrily. A moment passed as she gathered her sidetracked thoughts. "If I'd known that you'd collapse into a dead faint at the sight of me in clean duds, I would've jumped into the river for a bath when you were dragging me here to meet Greedy Galdran." She grinned impishly, lightly scratching the fine strands of hair just behind his ear and causing his skin to goosepimple. "You're too easily seduced," she added.

"Not easily enough or you wouldn't just be _sitting_ in my lap." He shook his head as if to clear it. "As I see it, Mistress Fyn is a determined young woman with a bit too much fire in her temper and a very… unique background. If I were you, I'd not worry about Alec or the rumors. He will make the right choice when the time comes for him to do it. Our brains are put to far better use thinking about what Norsunder intends to do."

He had not intended to wipe the coquettish smile from her face but he did, and immediately regretted his words. But what was said could not be unsaid. "You're right. It's just that I'm his mother, and I can't help but worry."

"Worrying is a mother's job, I won't deprive you of it. But it is a burden you should share with me. We have a partnership, remember?" She nodded, grateful for his understanding; and he was relieved to feel her relax when their lips touched and their breaths mingled. Her arms draped themselves loosely around his neck and his hands encircled her still trim waist of their own volition.

When they finally drew apart her grin had returned. "You are _so_ easily seduced!" He felt sixteen again, blushing at the ache in his groin. Without warning, he tumbled her to the floor, eliciting a squeal of surprise.

"I'll show you what seduction really means," he murmured near her ear as she laughed with delight. For the moment, the cares of the kingdom were forgotten.

&&&

Dawn came far too early for Ezra's liking. A full two bells before breakfast was to be served to the recruits, Ezra had woken, dressed, and trudged to the library. She had yet to eat or even have coffee, and her eyelids kept trying to sink as she walked. The fog that morning didn't help matters. It was a day cocooned in heavy grey, the weather cool and turning toward winter, and it certainly did not inspire Ezra to move faster. The bells for first gold rung, and she was still trying to make her way to the up to the main palace. She hoped Keriam wouldn't mind if she were late.

Ezra found the large, musky room, dim but for a few glow globes, seemingly deserted. It was far too early for any of the courtiers to be awake and looking for reading material. It was too early for just about anyone but the kitchen staff to be awake. So she went to a low table set against the rear wall, and sank down, knees creaking in the early morning chill, on the cushions to wait for her instructor.

"This is training to become a certified leader, Ezra. Rule one, leaders are not late, nor shall you be from now on."

Her stomach bottomed out at the voice from her right. She looked in that direction and found Rider coming from a smaller adjoining room behind a tapestry. In difference to the hour he was dressed informally, almost as he was when he posed as a pirate. Rider wore a loose grey shirt, tan breeches, and simple, soft, brown, woven shoes. Over it all was a long coat of thick grey wool to fend off the draft that leaked in from the windowpanes where the glass had sunk away from the mortar. His hair was held back in a tight braid which set the angles of his face in sharp relief in the soft light of the glow globes set about the chamber.

"W-what? I…" Ezra stood up, suddenly needing to be on her feet. "I thought Keriam was going to be—"

He leaned a wrist on the doorframe and used his other hand to hold the tapestry back. "No," he said, "I sent Thanyl because I knew you wouldn't listen to me if I came. I also told him not to tell you that I would be the one administering your leadership training." He moved back from the doorway, still holding the tapestry, and motioned her into the small back room. "Now then, shall we begin?"

Ezra swallowed, and hugged herself as she sidled through the door. There was very little space to maneuver, but she managed to enter the room without brushing against him. She immediately stepped to the left to avoid Alec as he let the tapestry slide back. She looked around the little room while he went back to the table he must have been sitting at when he'd heard her arrive in the outer room.

It was different than the alcove Rider seemed to normally favor. It was dominated by a long, wide table of some light wood stained a honey color. There were three tall windows facing one of the gardens that dominated the right hand wall. The one in front of her was actually white plaster painted with dark green ivy instead of the makeshift walls of tall bookcases that defined the other two walls of the room. A dark burgundy carpet cushioned the floor, and the cushions by the table matched in shades of wine, cream, and gold.

Rider waved a hand toward the table. "Sit. We have a lot to go over in a very short amount of time." He sat down on the far side of the table. She hazarded a quick glance at him then quickly away, and saw that the grey of his coat make his eyes stand out like thunderclouds. "You have four weeks to learn everything you can in order to be made an officer. Let's begin."

Ezra warily settled onto the cushions across from him, a hand gripping the corner of the table for balance. She still could not quite meet him in the eye, choosing to glance at the documents on the table instead. "Do you even know anything about naval tactics?" she asked snidely to cover her discomfort.

"I planned the taking of the Fearless," he reminded her.

"Aye, but you had us outnumbered," she said. "If it was one ship against another, could you have done it?"

He took a moment to honestly think about it. "I believe I could. I had a good cabinet of advisors, and I read extensively on nautical battles before I took the post."

Ezra grimaced. "Go about your teaching, then. I still have a good deal of training to get to this morning, and I'm going to need breakfast."

"I've taken the liberty of ordering breakfast to be served here for the two of us."

She sucked in a breath. There was no hope of escape before at least second gold-change, and that was still at least two and a half candles away. Ezra didn't understand why the Prince would condescend to become a tutor. And he kept looking at her, long and deep, as if he could see into her mind if he just kept at it. She refused to meet his gaze, but she could feel the weight of it on her. It was so much worse than the cold fire darts that used to shoot between the two. This was a humid warmth that gave her goosebumps and locked her throat up in shame. She should never have kissed him in the hallway.

She should never have let herself enjoy it, even for a moment.

Ezra tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and glared in Rider's general direction. "Let's get this done."

&&&

Alec took note of the fact that Ezra still was not looking him in the eye when she spoke. She had refrained from doing so at the meeting the day before, as well. Not that she had curbed her sarcastic comments or any attempts to undermine his authority. No, her verbal sparring faculties were intact. He knew her well enough by now to know that this was not simply her usual morning personality. While Ezra was not at her most social when first awoken, she usually had the courtesy to meet his eyes when they argued.

She was embarrassed, and he was enjoying it. If she was uncomfortable, it meant that she was as affected as he was by their kiss. It meant that Ezra felt the same attraction to him as Alec felt towards her. He wondered how long she would carry on this charade of acting as if she didn't feel the tension between them. Well and good, the silver lining to her forced reticence was the greater chance of her actually paying attention to what he had to say.

Alec had to admit the having the upper hand in this tumultuous relationship felt good. It wasn't just a detached amusement at watching her squirm; it was the glowing pleasure of knowing that he was the cause. She was too easy to read. If she had been one of the ladies at court, her embarrassment wouldn't be quite so palpable and she would have proceeded to initiate a dalliance. But this was Ezra and she wasn't looking at him. In fact, she was looking everywhere else but at him; and even when she did glance in his direction, her focus seemed to be on his right ear.

He would have laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation had he not been the one involved. The Queen had more than hinted that he should be wary of those who would speak ill of him at dinner the night before, and it was clear that she worried about his welfare. She probably saw Ezra as the cause of the problem, and the fact that they were alone in this private room did not help to address her concerns. If only she knew the truth!

He watched Ezra stifle a yawn and fought his own sigh. "Feel free to ask me any questions you may have at any point in time," said Alec, and received a noncommittal grunt in reply as she traced circles with her finger on the map before them.

Alec had gone to great pains to structure her command lessons so that she could start off on familiar ground before working towards more complicated matters. First and foremost came defense.

"On a large scale, naval blocking is not so different from military. Each ship corresponds to one battalion or one regiment depending on the intricacy of the field plan. We'll start at the most general level and work to more difficult.

"This is a map of the inner bay near Colend…."

&&&

Ezra felt her eyelids droop. A candle had barely gone by but the soft drone of Rider's voice was almost hypnotic. He spoke just above a murmur, quoting commanders who have died in battle, pointing out examples of past sea battles to illustrate the quote, and even sketching out battle ship formations. She had to admit that despite the slight drawl, his voice was actually quite pleasant. In fact, it was almost soothing with its crisp pronunciation and melodious lilt. Ah, the fist propping up her head was starting to feel as comfortable as a feather pillow.

She did not note the sudden absence of sound just as she was about to slip into sleep, and would not have registered its loss had Rider not leaned in close and whispered into her ear, "I would not do that if I were you."

Ezra was jolted awake by his proximity, her eyes flying open while her hand instinctively sought the comforting presence of the knife in her boot. He must have seen the reflexive action for he added, "I _definitely_ would not do that if I were you. The consequences may be… unfortunate. And didn't I tell you that it's against regs to carry a knife?"

She felt the heat of her blush spread upwards from her chest to her face. Ignoring his question she replied, "For what it's worth, I'm not scared of your consequences." The sudden flash of vindictive anger caused her to look right at him. She couldn't be sure but a squirt of humor seemed to shoot through him, and his small smile was quickly suppressed.

He grinned. "I was almost beginning to miss your angry glares. It seems you haven't lost the knack of it."

The urge to slap him so hard she broke his neck was unbearable. Her glare apparently did nothing to hide her desire to do violence because he sat back to put space between them. When he spoke again, his voice had turned somber. "I trust you've heard the rumors?"

She had no trouble guessing what he meant. Ezra licked her lips in annoyance and shook her hair away from her face. "Have I heard the rumors? Hmm, let's see. I've had people point at me while whispering behind their hands; the instructors are looking at me out of the corners of their eyes; and outside of Thanyl and the _Fearless's_ crew, I have absolutely no friends in the army. But no, I haven't heard the rumors. I've certainly felt the response, though." Rider opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off, "This seems like the perfect I-told-you-so moment. So if you're gonna rub it in for kissing you, this is your chance." She sat back on her heels and folded her arms, ready for whatever she had coming.

"And why would I do such a thing? I kissed you back. Besides, I've yet to thank you for such a thoroughly enjoyable experience though my jaw did ache for a while afterward. And the rumors? They seem to have quashed other rumors that I prefer men, and they stalled the pursuit of my other suitors at least for the moment. So truthfully, I thank you very much indeed."

His words brought to mind her previous belief that he preferred his own kind. Obviously she was wrong there. She also happened to notice he said he had enjoyed kissing her –

No, she stopped herself. She wouldn't think about that.

"Life, I'm so _terribly_ happy I could help with those pesky rumors," she drawled sarcastically before she went in for the thrust. "But maybe they're seeing something in your preferences you don't?"

Rider smiled wryly, and parried: "Is there anything I can do to convince you otherwise?"

He rubbed a finger across the swell of his lower lip as he said it. It seemed positively suggestive to Ezra. She wrenched her gaze away when he continued the subtle motion.

Ezra ignored the question and thought that it might make life easier for her to cease picking quarrels with him. She didn't like this new Rider who was more difficult to goad into losing his temper, who – she was fairly certain – was flirting with her! "The only thing you can do is to quell those rumors because they're spreading faster than a brushfire."

&&&

"Have _you_ done anything to try and quell them?" he returned.

She kept quiet and stared down at her folded arms indicating to him exactly what he had assumed. Ezra would hunch down and lie low even if the gossipmongers were talking about her then and there. She would choose to be oblivious as long as it no one said anything to her personally; but if one of them asked her directly for the truth, she would have no reservations about chewing their ears off. Alec knew she was no coward, but she was willing to let people think what they would unless they put themselves in her range of battle.

When she made no indication of answering his question, he carried on with the lesson as if nothing had happened, stopping only when the bells rang in the distance. She made to rise without even bidding him goodbye, but he stilled her movements by grabbing her wrist. "Wait."

Ezra looked down at his hand on her, and smirked. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, the consequences could be dire."

"Or entirely pleasant." He grinned, and then cut her off before she could form a retort. "I apologize for baiting you, but you have to concede that I'm just giving you a taste of your own medicine."

She shook her hand out of his grasp and turned to leave.

"About the rumors…" Alec paused to make sure he received the desired effect, and sure enough, Ezra paused in the doorway, her back still towards him. "They'll pass like they always do, but we have to make it known that we're not having an affair of any sort. Tell those people who will listen; and those who don't, well, they're insignificant."

She slowly turned back to face him. "I'll do that for my sake, not yours. But I doubt it'll work. You land folk are as stubborn as the mules you rear. Why don't you just make some announcement proclaiming we're not sleeping together?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to put together a coherent explanation. "Court politics is not as straightforward as you think it is. My mother used to say that the only difference between a battleground and a ballroom at court is the fact that you see the face of your enemy on the former, but you never know if someone's out for your blood in the latter. An official proclamation denying the rumors is as good as acknowledging that there is some truth to the matter. After all, every piece of gossip contains a kernel of truth." He watched understanding dawn in her eyes, followed by a slight pucker of her brow indicating frustration at the bind they were in.

"Argh. I have to go," she growled before fleeing the room.

"Same time tomorrow! Don't be late!" he called after her, proceeding to clear the desk of books and paper.

&&&

For their third lesson, they had adjourned to the alcove that Alec favored to do research. He had given her free reign to pick any book regarding naval tactics she fancied, picked out the relevant chapters and made her read them. Ezra struggled to get through the reading and continually found words she didn't understand but fought against the impulse of asking the know-it-all. It was when she had come up against another one of these words and glanced over at Rider while she debated asking him what it meant that Ezra noticed a small box on the table at his elbow. "What's that?"

Alec flicked his gaze to the little white package then up to her face. "That has nothing to do with your lesson. You're supposed to be researching."

Ezra reached over and grabbed it. Alec berated himself since he should have seen it coming. Before he could do more than lift his hand, she had it in her palm and was lifting the lid. He watched the confusion and annoyance blossom on her face.

"And you made such a fuss about me taking your hanky! You've already got another one." She flung the box back at him and sat back crossing her arms.

Alec gritted his teeth. "This one was a gift."

"Well good, someone obviously thinks more of you than I do."

"Yes, she does, however I don't feel the same for her. That is why I am returning this one."

Ezra smirked. "The red-head? The one with the one with the basket of fruit?"

"Lady Cordalyse," he supplied in acknowledgement.

"Aye. You danced with her at that ball after the Red Lantern business." She nodded remembering her conversation with Nadav as she hid behind the huge potted plant. "It's a good match. Like a little copy of your parents. According to your cousin, everyone's expecting you to ask for her hand."

"But much to _everyone's_ disappointment, I won't be." Alec purposely put more pressure on "everyone's," and watched her reaction from beneath his lashes.

"Well, not everyone. I certainly won't be." She snorted like he was an idiot, and Alec felt something akin to hope deflate inside him. "Don't see why not. She's got a title. Money. Pretty little thing, too. What's to think about?"

Alec looked up in surprise at her off-hand comment, and wondered if that was the same thing his friends and family thought, but chose not to voice.

"Cordalyse is…" he searched for a word, "not brainless—that implies stupidity. She's…mindless. She has no will of her own. I don't believe I have ever heard her utter one declarative sentence. She cannot even give a definitive opinion on the weather."

"Good. She'll always agree with you."

"I don't want someone who is simply going to agree with me no matter what I do or say," Alec snapped. "What good would she be to me, or to Remalna? If I am making a mistake, I want someone who is going to tell me. Also, having someone who only agrees with me would be terribly boring. Not that I want a relationship like Uncle Russav and Aunt Tamara."

He trailed off after he realized that he was babbling. Then, with a suddenness that surprised even himself, he changed the subject. "How have you been dealing with the gossipmongers?"

They had not spoken of the rumors since their first lesson, and she seemed unwilling to divulge any information as if thinking that it was her problem to solve.

She shrugged expressively, and replied with a careless air, "As you said, those who were willing to listen, listened. Those who weren't willing didn't and they don't matter." Unknown to her, Alec saw past the brave front, and would have pursued the matter further if her jaw had not been clenched as tightly as it was.

Instead, he tried to make light of the situation. "Ah, you finally agree with me! I didn't think it was possible."

"The first and the last time we'll be in agreement," she scoffed. "That said, you're not gonna get me to agree to parting with _my _handkerchief."

Alec opened his mouth to let fly a stream of protests but checked himself, took a calming breath, then said, "I worked hard for that handkerchief, you know. Yes, it costs a whole lot of money but I earned it. My late grandfather gave it to me after I worked at his knee for a year governing the principality and the marquisate as part of my training. He told me that for some things you can never wipe clean; for others there's that handkerchief."

Ezra's face was scrunched up as she tried to decipher his meaning. "You're saying that some screw ups just can't be fixed, right?"

"More or less. Though I believe my grandfather was referring to politics in particular at the time." He looked down at his hands and studied his fingernails and the way he held his pen. He had the same hands as his grandfather and father – a scribe's hands. What had his father said about keeping the 'vixens' at bay? Devote equal attention to each and every one of them, a light word here, a quick smile there. He supposed that doing the exact opposite would achieve the converse effect. That realized, he decided to give Ezra no attention – or at least, very little—in order to coax her closer.

_Like gentling a wild animal,_ he mused.

A glance up caught Ezra fingering his handkerchief, running the edge through her fingers. It seemed that she carried it with her wherever she went. He cleared his throat and got her attention. Smiling, he took a risk and said, "You can keep it if you really want to. I suppose it'll serve you in better stead than I." He copied her earlier shrug to emphasize his point.

"You know," she mused with a put-out sigh, "for once you actually seem human. Normal. Besides the times I get you all riled up of course. Your true colors really come through then." She slid him a glance from under lowered eyelids. Coming from someone else it would have seemed flirtatious, from Ezra it was thoughtful.

"Then I hope my mortal flaws meet with your approval."

He watched as she carefully folded the handkerchief, placed it on the table and slid it towards him. "Here. Don't say I'm merciless. I know what it means to have something of sentimental value." Her hand rose of its own volition to feel the slight lump beneath the collar of her tunic making him wonder what lay beneath.

"Thank you." He reclaimed the piece of cloth, felt the last traces of her warmth on its woven threads and slipped it into his breast pocket. "It has more sentimental value than you know."

&&&

A/N: We're so sorry for the late update! I could give you all the usual excuses plus a new one – I overwrote the file by accident and had to rewrite it.

Thanks for all the reminders to update though. I hope this was worth the wait.) As usual, we welcome all sorts of comments and critique regarding the overall scheme of things as well as the developing relationship between Alec and Ezra.

Love,

FS&EG


	13. Displacement

Gypsy Queen

Chapter 13: Displacement

The first snow of the season sifted down from a steel grey sky. In the palace library, Ezra sat at the low table in the alcove the Prince had chosen for their sessions. She was dressed in winter gear—a thick canvas tunic to cut down the wind penetration, wool shirt, leggings, and socks, and a new pair of water-proofed boots—provided by the palace armory since she had none of her own. She'd taken to wearing most of her hair back in a braid that fell to just beneath her shoulder blades. Ezra knew it was much shorted than any of the women at Court, but she was glad to find that most of the other female cadets kept their hair as short as, or shorter than she wore her own. Long hair was a mark of rank and the fact that you didn't spend your day doing things that would muss it up, she learned.

Ezra glanced up at the man across from her. She had noticed that Rider's eyes were the color of the sky outside the long windows when she showed up for morning tutorial. At the slightest sign that he might look up, she returned her gaze to the maps on the table and refused to meet those eyes. Things had gotten very confusing between them these last two weeks. He was flirting, and Ezra's stomach knotted every time he gave her his smirking half-smile. It made her mornings more difficult than they would have been had she not stupidly kissed him. It was a mistake Ezra berated herself for every quarter candle.

"Have you finished your report yet?"

Ezra jumped at his voice.

"Er…."

The truth was, she had been so distracted by Rider sitting so close and acting so odd that she had barely been able to register what she was looking at. Ezra gritted her teeth and forced her attention back to the maps. The one on top was of the straits between Remalna and the large island of Sles Adran. There were the three Tip Islands at the top hook of the Northern Cape and the five smaller islands in the straits owned by the Adranis—the Corlingian Islands. At the western edge of the map was the curve of the coast along tiny Denlieff and larger Chwahirsland and the Saffron Islands between Chwahirsland and Sles Adran. Ezra was supposed to explain the best defense for the valuable Saffron Islands' ports using the five tomes stacked around her of past attacks and defenses.

Rider set his quill down carefully to the side of the parchment he had been copying the dates and sites of attacks attributed to the Brotherhood onto from the dozens of scrolls and missives piled around him. His expression flickered between interest and annoyance. Ezra watched his hand come into her line of sight and pick up the paper that was supposed to contain her report. It was blank except for a few swirled doodles in the lower corner.

"Hmm. I wonder whether you are even serious about regaining you post as Captain or if you are determined to sabotage yourself and Remalna with your balking."

Ezra flushed, and her eyes locked on his. Her thoughts clarify with the rise of her temper, and she managed to make a few observations out of pure spite.

"First off, _Your Highness_, your map's missing the Hook Shoals here, around the peninsula of Chwahirsland." She slid the map around so that she was at North, Rider at South and pointed. "No pirate or naval ship'd be fool enough to smash their hull to pieces on those shoals, so the two western islands are safe from the south. And the Adrani forces on their south and west coasts are too thick to really make that direction sensible since the Tengori Empire on the Betu Southern Continent have taken to raiding north and calling it 'collecting toll on their ocean.' Mark my words, they'll have a war with Sles Adran sooner rather than later if they keep that up.

"So the only way to attack the Saffron Islands is from inside the straits. And it would depend on who the attacker was and how big a name they had. If you were talking my Grandpa or Caelron, I'd say he'd go for the second, third, or fourth island there," Ezra pointed, "at the north port. They're clumped close enough together that he could get his crew lost in the other islands fairly quickly after making the hit. It would also depend on the daring of the captain. Me—I'd go between the two islands here, hit the west port of the fourth island, loop around the southern side of its neighbor, then sail back north.

"But if we're talking a big navy fleet…." She chewed on the side of her lip as she thought. Then she shook her head. "Wouldn't do it. Not if it was me drawing up the plans of attack. The straight just isn't big enough for the number of ships needed to take on Sles Adran, Chwarisland, Remalna, and Colend—which can easily trap any fleet in the straight and then it's a bloodbath waiting to happen."

"To think, all of this without cracking a book," Rider drawled in a bored, supercilious tone. "And what does all of this mean exactly?"

Ezra glared into Rider's storm grey eyes. "Which means, the key to the strait isn't Sles Adran, it's Colend. Take all the ports going East to West, not West to East, skim the edge of the mainland instead of tempting a tangle with the so-called Empire of the Seas, Sles Adran, and when everyone is chasing their tails, then attack south and hit the islands…."

She stopped and frowned. What she'd described was the most logical means of attack. It was straightforward and involved a lot of brute force. But it wasn't how the Brotherhood was attacking. The Brotherhood was coming in from the South. They had been making lightning attacks first on Denlieff, as the smallest and least powerful of the coastal countries, then Remalna, and only after gaining in confidence did they attempt Chwahirsland. Sles Adran itself had suffered a few attacks on their southern-most coast and its daughter islands to the south and west, as well. Colend was as yet barely touched.

"Norsunder has a friend in Sles Adran," Ezra concluded.

One of Rider's pale eyebrows rose up, and the faint smile that had been tugging at the corners of his mouth pulled down again. He held up one long finger, stood, and moved to the tapestry hanging between their alcove and the rest of the library. After listening for a moment, he pulled the edge aside and exited. Rider returned a moment later with a book in hand. He immediately tossed it aside.

"In case someone was watching, I needed a reason to have exited and reentered," he explained when he saw Ezra's confusion. "I wanted to be sure no one would overhear. The war council has been guessing the spy is in Colend. Why do you say Sles Adran?"

Ezra looked up at him in surprise. She had not expect to have him reveal that kind of information to her. Quickly, however, she shook the feeling off and answered.

"Well, Colend hasn't been hit yet, right? Not really."

He nodded. "There have been a few attacks in Colendrian waters of merchant ships, but none on the mainland which is why we have been operating under the assumption that the spy is there. The attacks are enough to make it seem as though they are being targeted equally without actually losing anything of value."

"Neither has Sles Adran, I'll wager," Ezra said. She pointed again to the end of the Chwahirsland peninsula on the map before them. "Look. See? Remember the Hook Shoals? They extend more than halfway across the bottom mouth of the strait, well into territory claimed by the Adranis. Believe me when I say that they don't like unknown vessels in their water without permission.

"Now look," she stretched to reach across the table into the pile of formal reports on the myriad pirate attacks. Ezra snatched up the list Rider had been making for the past candle while she was fretting and not doing her report.

"The first attack was here," she pointed to the largest of the Saffron Islands situated at the southern end of the small group. "It seems like a logical place for a first attack except for the fact that if you asked any pirate on Tourmaline they'd tell you it was impossible. The second you get within sight of the main island—through a spy glass atop the crows nest, mind—you're surrounded by Adrani war ships asking you for your name and if you have royal clearance to sail through their waters."

Rider nodded and pointed to the coastal city of Khulanu on the eastern edge of Chwahirsland nearly parallel to the westernmost of the Saffron Islands. "This was the second recorded attack where the Brotherhood's flag was spotted. It was nearly four years ago now."

"Right," Ezra said, her excitement rising, as was her certainty. "And then one here in Remalna, and another in Chwahirsland—"

"Wait," Alaraec said. He reached into a small dish that he had provided for Ezra that morning, but which she had been too distracted to use. Inside were small tacks which he used to push through the map at the points of attack they had already listed. A white tack marked the first attack in the Islands, and the rest were red. He then took a long piece of red twine and connected the tacks from point to point in chronological order.

"All right," he said when he had finished. "Now, the next attack was here on the last of the Tip Islands." He pushed in a pin and connected it with the twine. "And the next…off the coast of Colend."

Ezra took up a couple of the red pins herself and pressed in the next two attacks—both on the coast of Sartor.

Alec stopped her from pushing in the next pin.

"Look here." He pointed to his timeline, and both of them leaned in to get a better look at his tight, looping handwriting. "This one, on the peninsula again, happened in the summer three years ago within two days of this one on K'Saoria—the north island in the archipelago."

Ezra nodded, seeing what he meant. "It would take more than a week to get that far. It's another crew. Are you sure the one on K'Saoria is the Brotherhood, though? Don't get me wrong, but…well, the Saorian Islands are ripe pickin's. There's so much clan warfare, everyone vying for the throne that no one can keep it long enough to mobilize a strong navy. I know Grandpa would hit L'Saoria and De Saoria when we were running low on sundries and needed a bit more coin before heading back to Tourmaline."

Alec cast her a sidelong look. Ezra couldn't help the smirk that played on her face as she shrugged. They both realized in the same moment that they had met one another's eye for the first time in weeks. Rider's gaze flicked down to her mouth, and Ezra quickly turned her face away to look down at the papers piled in front of her.

"There were four survivors in the watchtower on K'Saoria," he said as if nothing had happened. "They all reported seeing the Brotherhood's standard. People tend not to forget the armed skeletons on a blood red field, so I would say the reports are fairly accurate. The same flag was recorded as being seen by ten witnesses in Zjidda."

Keeping her attention on the map so as not to meet Rider's eyes again, Ezra nodded. She saw him put another white tack in the map at the site of the city of Zjidda to symbolize another crew. Ezra cleared her throat and tried to make sense of the words on the list of attacks once again, but she had once again floundered. Her skin felt flushed and cold at the same time. She tried to surreptitiously scoot away from Rider not knowing how they had come to be sitting so close in the first place.

With less self-assurance than she had a few moments before, Ezra plotted all of the attack points with Rider. By the time the next bell-change sounded the end of their session, they had discovered at least four separate crews, including the one that Rider had infiltrated. Of the four, three of them had their first attack on the south-west entrance into the Adrani Straits.

"You were right," he admitted as he collected his new notes and the map that they had worked on together. "It's not feasible that they could have snuck past. I thought, at the time, that the captain of the Red Lantern was either very skilled or very lucky to get through the Adrani fleet. But three different ships, at least? No. Someone in Sles Adran has made a deal with Norsunder to allow the Brotherhood through their waters."

"And they've told the pirates not to attack land in Colend," Ezra added. "That way it looks like they've got the spy."

"Well thought, Captain," Alec said. "It appears there is _some_ hope of you acquiring a mind for tactics yet."

She jerked her chin up to meet his eyes, fully expecting the Prince to be sneering, but found a teasing smile instead, and Ezra had to look away again.

"Same time tomorrow, Captain?"

"Fine," she muttered. "Now move yourself out of the doorway so I can leave."

Rider moved slightly aside and bowed her out, holding the tapestry for her. Ezra gritted her teeth and pushed past. She forced herself not to hurry past him; she made her feet continue in a normal pattern and kept her head high. If she leaned a bit away from him, it was only because she didn't want to hit her head on the tapestry. She could feel his eyes on her as she left the library and continued down the corridor that led to the courtyard. Her stomach most certainly did not flip-flop.

Finally outside, Ezra took a moment to catch her breath. She had not realized how fast she was walking until she saw the huge puffs of steam rising from her mouth as she fought to pull cold air into her lungs. It was still snowing, albeit not much. A light dusting lay on the cobblestones and atop the roof of the palace. She had learned a lot about snow in the short time on the vineyard and knew that this falling would melt by the next afternoon unless the weather took a turn that night. The air at the moment was cold, yes, but it didn't have the feel of icy daggers in her throat and chest like it had during a bad storm Ezra had experienced the year before.

Ezra turned her face up to the sky, grey as a dove's breast, and watched the remaining tiny snowflakes drift down. Several landed on her flushed cheeks like cool kisses and immediately melted. She closed her eyes, took a great breath, and slowly let it pass through her lips in a stream of visible air. Then she headed back to the trainee barracks.

She just passed the side entrance to the palace gardens when rustling and a crunch of gravel signaled the approach of a group of people. The wind came up, and Ezra ducked her chin into her chest. Her ears were beginning to burn from the cold, and tears began to well in her eyes.

When Ezra could look up again, the group of five courtiers dressed for a winter picnic had come into view. None of them were familiar to her as one of the friends and family of the royals introduced to Ezra by either the Prince or his sister. There were three ladies in deep, jewel toned velvet gowns with fur trim, and two gentlemen, one in a russet jacket and matching coat, and the other dressed in a forest green jacket and trousers with a brown fur coat. Ezra remembered her training, and (not wanting to draw attention to herself as more of a spectacle than she already was) moved to the side to let them pass and bowed at the waist.

"That's her!" a female voice hissed from the group.

Ezra tensed, sure they were talking about her.

"Who?" one of the men asked. "Her?"

"Surely not," the other said.

"I swear!" the woman insisted. "I've seen her go into the library to meet with Prince Alaraec dozens of times. They're alone for candles at a time. Who knows what they do in there?"

"I heard it was training of some kind," a women with a husky voice said.

"Oh, I'm sure it is," the first tittered, eliciting appreciative laughter from her companions.

Ezra closed her eyes and fought down the wave of embarrassment that threatened to engulf her, blinking away the tears of rage that rose to her eyes. She debated with herself on whether to stand up and glare them down or stay bowed and pretend she had not heard them. Her first instinct was to go up to the bunch of snobs and tell them what they could do with their dirty thoughts. But then she thought of how much she wanted to gain her captaincy, and she could not do that if she was kicked out of training. And besides, who would run as intermediary between the Gypsies and the Royals? Her grandmother was counting on her. Djilia would be banished without her.

As the group passed her, they dropped their voices lower. Ezra could not catch every word, but she caught a few. Whore… slut…vile …the Prince's Doxy… money …crown… run her out….

She swung up and turned furious eyes on the courtiers. Ezra tightened every muscle in her body to stop herself from moving toward them. She clenched her jaw and her fists and glared at them as they sauntered by her. The two men let their gazes rove her figure revealed by her faded gold-brown tunic and drab leggings. The women ducked their heads together and giggled. Ezra lost control of her body and she took a single step in their direction when she heard a voice call her name.

"Ezra!"

She spun to see Keriam jogging up the small hill that lead down to the barracks. He was grinning behind his sweeping mustache. Ezra could hear the skirts of the women in the group of gossiping courtiers rustle behind her, surely turning to see who was calling the Prince's Doxy—oh, how she was going to hurt Rider when she saw him next!

"Ezra! There you are," Keriam greeted her as she approached. "I was just down at the barracks looking for you. I forgot this was the only time you could meet for tactics training."

Ezra heard the women's laughter peal out behind her once again at the mention of her training.

Moving out of an instinct of self-preservation rather than on rational thought, Ezra rushed forward to meet Keriam and threw her arms around his neck. Keriam stumbled back a step, his own arms coming around her to steady them both. His blue eyes were wide with shock, and he gaped at her insensibly.

"What—?"

Ezra quickly cut him off with a kiss. She pressed her lips to his with the force of humiliation and a desire to hide from prying eyes, hoping it would look like passion to the busybodies behind her.

Keriam's mustache tickled her top lip and nose. His lips were thin and warm even in the cold. His breath smelled like apple jelly and honeyed biscuits. She imagined that it was the same sensation she would get kissing her Grandpa or any one of her mustachioed adoptive uncles.

She didn't know what she felt but it was nothing like it had been with Rider.

She kept her growl of frustration internal. Instead of pulling away, Ezra closed her eyes, parted her lips, and tried to make this into a real kiss. She sucked Keriam's top lip and gently bit the swell of his bottom. She licked the corners of his mouth in an attempt to coax his mouth open, but by now the stunned commander had regained some sense and gently eased her away.

It was just as well that Keriam was too 'proper' to kiss her back.

"Ezra? What—?"

"I'm so glad you found me," she said a bit louder than absolutely necessary and hooked their arms together. "Walk me back, will you?"

Ezra forcibly turned him around and started walking back down the incline to the training buildings and cadet barracks. She muttered, "Don't speak a moment. Just walk with me. Please?"

Keriam nodded. Dutifully, he waited a few moments before he tried asking again. "Would you care to explain what that was about, Ezra?"

By now they were far enough away from the group of courtiers that Ezra risked a glance back. They were no where to be seen, obviously content with their new juiciest piece of gossip. She let out a sigh and turned to Keriam with a little smile. Her relief disappeared when she saw the look on his face. He held his jaw tight and kept his eyes forward. There were lines of stress on his forehead, and his previous smile had hardened into a scowl.

"I..I'm sorry, Keriam—er, Thanyl," she stuttered. "There were these people….I just…."

"You thought you'd use me as a distraction."

Guilt made her cheeks warm despite the best efforts of the breeze which once again picked up and blew tiny snow drifts across the lawn. Ashamed, she uncoiled her arm from his and let it drop to her side.

"I shouldn't have done that," she acknowledged. "I just wanted to stop myself from doing damage to their pretty faces. I thought it might be bad for my career if I attacked a group of nobles."

Keriam made a noise in his throat, and when Ezra turned to look he coughed to cover up a chuckle. She relaxed a little and smiled back.

"I really am sorry, Thanyl. I seem to have developed a habit of forcibly kissing people and getting my just deserts for my behavior. So I will understand if you never want to speak with me again." She realized too late that she was babbling.

"A habit? You mean you've been…"

She hurriedly changed the subject. "I mean I shouldn't have done that. It was completely out of line and I should've known better." She snuck a glance in his direction and caught him gnawing his bottom lip thoughtfully. "It's not that I wasn't thinking of kissing you eventually…but I should have picked a better moment."

He stopped and turned to look her in the eye. "You were planning on kissing me?"

Ezra fidgeted thinking that now was probably not the best time to tell him that she had not reacted at all to the kiss they just shared. But _surely_ that was because he did not kiss her back. "I thought about it." She cleared her throat. "I admit, getting over Willem was…difficult. We may not have been married legally, but we were married in every other way. And it took a long time for me to let him go—no matter what some loose-tongued people might be saying." Ezra took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. "But I have always liked you. You made the whole ordeal on the _Valiant_ more bearable. And you've been a good friend to me here. And yes, I've thought that I should get around to kissing you eventually."

By the end of her speech, Keriam was grinning again. He nodded, rubbing his palms on his tunic. "That's…that's wonderful! I've been…hoping that…wanting to…as well." She found his uncharacteristic fidgeting amusing, and would have smiled if he had not gone on to say, "I thought, for a while, that it was Alec you were—"

"No!" Ezra yelled. When he raised his brows in surprise, Ezra lowered her voice. "No. Believe me. We step on each others' toes, and we may spark, but not in a good way. Don't listen to what these people say. There's nothing going on between me and Rider."

Keriam's eyes flickered at her mention of the Prince's nickname, but he forged ahead. "I'm glad to hear it. I was hoping that we would have a chance to become closer on the way to Sartor for the conference."

At the mention of the conference, Ezra started to feel her nerves again. Everything that she had piled on her shoulders pressed down on her—her captaincy, the Gypsies, Djilia's innocence, the spy in Sles Ardran….

"Ke—Thanyl, I have to get back. Drills start in less than a candle with Tendescun, and I need to warm up. And then I'm helping Major Newbeth with the recruits' bow practice. And at some point I need to check in with my grandmother."

"You obviously have your hands full," Keriam said with a slight bow. "I'll leave you, then. For now."

He gave her a warm smile that made his eyes look like the summer sky. Ezra smiled back and waved as she turned and trotted down to the practice courts.

&&&

Nadav Savona bent low over his horse's withers and spurred the beast to a greater speed. He glanced over at his riding companion and found an expression of intense concentration on the other man's face. Being trained in the art of dissembling, Nadav saw through the blank absorption to an underlying emotion – frustration, annoyance, pain? It was anyone's guess, for Crown Prince Kaelen-Dei of Sartor kept his cards close to his chest.

It was a neck and neck race since the pair had started at Whitten Inn half a bell earlier. Kaelen had insisted they play fair, forcing Nadav to fight the diplomatic impulse to check his mount's speed. It had been a while since he had last raced like this, without a care in the world. Then, he had had Alec and his closest friends by his side. Now he had the half-pleasure, half-duty of accompanying Kaelen to Dyaranarya Academy, and the two had decided to liven up the long journey with a bit of competition.

They were nearing their destination now. Nadav could see the turrets and flags fluttering from the topmost towers around the bend in the road. He gave his horse its head, knowing that the beast's own competitive streak would win him the race. Kaelen saw Nadav pull ahead and spurred his own horse forward, a competitive smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. But it was no use; Nadav pulled ahead and horse and rider plunged through the gates of the Academy a mere head-length ahead of the Sartoran prince. The two young men dismounted, and Kaelen thumped him on the back for a race well run.

"I suppose your cousin rides as well as you do?" he asked.

"Possibly better. He's had more practice patrolling the borders, chasing after raiders. My job calls for greater subtlety and galloping cross country at top speed would draw too much attention to myself." Nadav pulled a flask from his pack and patted his horse's rump, sending it to graze nearby.

"Suppose we wait for the rest to catch up?" suggested the Prince, repeating Nadav's actions. Nadav shook his head and gestured towards the stables just as a pair of stable boys came forward to lead their mounts away.

"How does it feel to be back home?" he asked, and saw Kaelen's face light up.

"Better than you can imagine with what we're facing. My sister will be happy to see me. You'll love Meridanaria. Everyone does. In fact, she reminds me of…" he cleared his throat. "Never mind." Kaelen busied himself by tugging off his riding gloves.

"Of whom?" _Was this the source of the Prince's unhappiness? A woman?_

"Her Majesty, Queen Meliara," he replied—too quickly in Nadav's estimation. And despite the faint flush of his cheeks, Kaelen's eyes were cool. "They have the same coloring."

"Ah, yes. Auburn hair has become quite the rage since Aunt Mel became Queen. I've heard it said that some ladies have resorted to dying their tresses with a certain flower to attain its reddish hue. Others, like my cousin Kitty – you know her as Lady Ranisia, were fortunate to be born with it." Nadav would not think of certain other ladies with red hair. He would not!

"Yes, the Lady Ranisia. She was most personable and friendly." He paused, then added, "Extremely witty too, and wickedly funny."

And so the mystery woman was revealed. Nadav, although surprised, kept his thoughts to himself as they led their mounts to the hostlers that had come out of the stables to take the horses. "Indeed. It is a pity that she remains in Tlanth for most of the year; she is a most welcome addition to the court."

"I trust she has many suitors? A future countess directly related to the royal family would have no lack of charming company."

Nadav shrugged. "I wouldn't know. She does not speak of those who come a-courting despite their less than subtle advances. I suppose it is obvious to those who observe that she desires neither dalliance nor marriage to those who pursue her for her wealth."

"Such a woman is rare. Few ladies would refuse marriage to a suitable gentleman." The Prince smiled slightly. "After all, it might be seen as a spit in society's collective eye. And as far as I know, Ezra Fyn is the only one brave enough to actually try such an action—in the literal sense!"

Both men chuckled at the truth of that statement before Nadav answered. "True enough, but I can't fault her decision to do so. I don't believe she turns her back on the rules of court. I rather think, after seeing her own parents, her aunt and uncle, and even Elestra and Flauvic, that Kitty abhors the notion of a loveless marriage to a man who sees her worth only in the gold she adds to his coffers."

"A man that would do that to such a lady is a fool," said Kaelen as they climbed the tall staircase that lead to the great oak doors.

"There are those of the fairer sex who would do the same," he murmured, the person he strove so hard to dismiss from his thoughts surfaced.

Nadav could hear the first protests of the thick hinges as someone began to open them from inside. He could feel the searching glance aimed at him from the Prince, and as the door was hauled open, Kaelen ventured, "Such as the right to append a royal title to their names?"

"Just so."

Just as the left door opened fully to reveal the Academy's liveried stewards, the stamp of horse hooves sounded at the gate. The Sartorian honor guard that had accompanied them on this short trip to the Dyranarya Academy, and would continue onwards with Kaelen and his sister to the Sartoran capital, Erev-li-Erval, had caught up with the racers.

&&&

A/N: We apologize for the extremely late update and hope that this chapter more than makes up for it! Kudos to EG for coming up with the whole "pirate attack" sequence thing. If you would like to see the map they were working with, let me know in your review!

To those of you who wanted more Nadav here he is in a more sombre setting. Not his usual joking self I'm afraid. Please review!

Regards,

FS&EG


	14. Patience

Gypsy Queen

Chapter 14: Patience

"So…" Alec leaned his shoulder against the wall of the indoor practice court early the next morning, "you and Ezra Fyn are…?"

"We have an understanding," Keriam said. He ladled himself a drink of water from the barrel the Prince stood beside. "And we have decided to further enjoy each others' company."

"Ah."

Keriam swallowed the water in a single gulp and turned to face his friend. "I asked you months ago whether such a thing would be a problem. You said it wasn't then. Is it a problem now?"

Alec stared down at a water stain on the toe of his boot and tried to organize his thoughts. The rumor of Keriam's involvement with Ezra had come to Alec's attention as quickly as the night before. He wrote it off as another false account of the infamous captain's conquests until that morning when Thanyl had come to morning drills. When Alec heard his friend confirm the rumor he accidentally left himself open for Thanyl to get a hit.

He was frustrated, that much Alec could name. He was frustrated that Ezra gave signs of interest, even, occasionally, respect and enjoyment of his company, and then pulled away from him. And he was surprised. He had thought that Ezra was not yet ready to enter into a romantic relationship, and that was why she constantly danced away from him. Of course, he chastised himself, Thanyl had told Alec of his intentions toward Ezra shortly after her arrival at the palace. It was foolish to be surprised.

Was he angry?

Alec thought he was.

Ezra had initiated both kisses between them. She had enjoyed the last one—he felt her lean into him, heard the soft moan of pleasure at the back of her throat. Since then, she blushed when he looked at her, and it made her golden skin turn the color of damask roses. Ezra looked at him, too, although Alec thought she did not realize how often that was.

And now she was in a dalliance with Thanyl. Yes, he was angry.

"I don't really have the place to argue," Alec said making sure to keep his tone even. "As you said, Ezra came to you. I may have made advances to her, but she never accepted me as a possible suitor. And you did warn me that you had feelings for her. It is not my place to stand between the two of you."

_Much as I may wish to,_ he added silently.

"I'm glad of that," Thanyl said. "I mean, I'm glad that you don't seem upset. But then, you've always been rather hard to read."

Alec shook his head. "I assure you, I'm not upset. Perhaps a bit disappointed, but not upset. She chose you. I wish you joy."

He turned away before he could show how overturned he actually was. He slid his practice blade back into the sheath and tossed it to one of the servants stationed at the side of the room with a bit more force than was truly necessary. Alec could hear his friend sigh as he made his way to the door. His horse was tied to a post outside, and the Prince loosened the reins and mounted up, his jaw clenched and eyes pinched. He considered riding to the training barracks. He spent the better part of the ride back to the Residence Wing imagining the scene he would have liked to cause when he arrived on the training grounds in his current dishabille. He would find Ezra immediately, march up to her in the same irritating manner she so often adopted when she confronted him and loudly demand what in blazes she was thinking pairing off with Thanyl?

Not when they sparked so well. Not when, if she would simply forget that he was royalty and she distrusted him, they enjoyed their banter and contention.

Not when their kisses were so incendiary.

But, of course, Alec could do no such thing. He was not at liberty to make such a spectacle of himself or of a woman. Any woman. Certainly not one he liked and respected.

And there was the rub of the whole situation.

He liked Ezra very much. He liked spending time with her. His skin hummed when she was near, and not merely because he was attracted to her. It was as if every particle of his body wished to be closer to her. He enjoyed watching her thoughts and emotions ripple across her face like waves on the water—always changing in remarkable ways, but always, in essence, the same. He respected her thoughts and opinions, and one thing he hated most about their current relationship was her unwillingness to believe that he respected her. She always thought that he was mocking her. Alec had no idea how to make her see that it was not so.

By the time he arrived back at the stables and headed up to the Residence Wing, Alec was in a dismal, morose mood. He was even more reserved than usual when he passed others in the corridors. His own mother failed to get him to pause in his journey back to his room.

"Oh, there you are, Alec," she said with a warm smile and flourished a letter in her hand. "I've gotten news from your sister. Oria will meet you in Sartor to see about removing Zirellia Ianthe's trigger—whatever that proves to be."

"That's fine," Alec said as he brushed by her.

"Alec?" his mother called. "Are you all right?"

"Yes."

Before she could ask anything more, he reached his rooms, batted aside the tapestry, and entered. Alec pulled his shirt off and threw it across the room. The great wolfhound Ash that lay on the floor in front of the hearth lifted his head at his master's show of pique. The valet's eyes widened, and Alec bit back the harsh words—directed at himself—that pushed against his lips.

"Your Highness, are you well?"

"Yes," he snapped. Then he sighed and repeated himself in a calmer tone. "Yes, I'm well. Do you have my clothes for the day picked out?"

"Of course, Your Highness."

The man went to the bureau and removed the clean shirt, vest, waistcoat, trousers, and stockings that he had chosen for the Prince to wear that day while Alec knelt in front of the dog and scratched his ears.

"Your Highness?"

Alec straightened and went to retrieve his apparel. As he pulled the new shirt of crisp linen over his head, he told the valet, "Have a message sent to my father. Tell him I need to speak to him at his earliest convenience regarding Ezra Fyn's tutoring."

"Yes, Your Highness."

* * *

"Ezra!"

Ezra twisted her head around to see who was calling her name as she bent over her bunk to tuck in the corners of her blanket. "Costran! What are you doing here?"

"Yeah, it's nice to see you too," grinned the young man as he spoke, breaking the rules and entering the female dorm to give her a hug and a thump on the back. "Just came in from another patrol around the country. Nice scenery this time of year. But I 'spose I came back just in time to hear your happy news. Gonna get hitched?"

"What in the blazes are you talking about?" returned Ezra, giving him a playful shove.

"Why, your hanky-panky-ing with a certain Commander Keriam, of course!" His eyes sparkled with mirth at the sight of her blooming red face.

"That's rub- wait a second, where did you hear that from?"

A few pair of eyes swiveled their way. "Out," said Ezra, literally dragging Costan by the hand to a more private area.

"I've been sworn to secrecy. Pirates' honor!" Costran thumped a fist against his chest.

Ezra moved in, grasping him by the collar of his tunic and yanking him close. In a menacing tone she said, "Pirates' honor my ass. Spill."

"Fine!" he tugged her hands off his worn uniform and dusted himself off theatrically. "Rumor's been going around the barracks ever since I got back. Seems you and the Commander have been trifling with one 'nother."

"That was fast. Even faster than…" Ezra clamped her mouth shut just in time.

"What did ya say?"

"Nothing. Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt. You were saying?" Ezra asked, knowing that she'd dread the answer.

"Well, seein' as yer my friend an' all, I would've thought that you'd tell me your good news yerself. But ya didn't. So here I am wanting the real dibs." He crossed his arms expectantly.

"There's nothing much to tell really. I just kissed him in front of a few toffs." She shrugged.

"Why would you do that for?" He scratched his stubbly chin.

"Coz I wanted them to shut up about me and Rider."

"Yeah, heard 'bout that too. So you didn't kiss him coz you liked him, then?"

"No!" Ezra surprised even herself with the vehement denial in her voice. "I do like him. I just didn't have the guts to kiss him for no good reason that's all."

"And a couple of 'ristos bad mouthing ya was a good reason to smooch him? You're not making any sense, Ezra. Besides, the Ezra I know has the guts to do anything. You punched Rider in front of the King, fer goodness sake! After kissing him, no less!"

_Argh, I'm never gonna live that one down,_ thought Ezra. But truly, Costran had cut too close to the bone for comfort. "It doesn't matter why I kissed him. What matters is that they'll shut up about me and Rider. I knew people would talk, I just didn't know that the news would get around so quickly."

"Whatever. It's yer business not mine. I should warn ya about that Commander Keriam though. Word is he's a popular one with the ladies. Something about that moustache makes 'em crazy for him, I think."

"So you're thinking of growing one too?" she joked.

"Probably." He laughed. "To his credit, he seems real decent and all, no string of broken hearts as far as I can tell; but the girls don't stick around for long."

"Thanks for the warning. I'll be careful." The bells chimed in the distance signaling the start of her hectic day. "Look, I've gotta go. I'll see ya around, yeah?"

"What? No kiss? Kiss me and they'll shut up 'bout you and Keriam I'll bet!" exclaimed Costran. He squished his eyes shut, puckered his lips, and leaned in. Laughing, Ezra smacked the side of his head.

"Get on with you!" Ezra said as she turned to leave.

Costran's plaintive "No fair!" reached her ears, making her grin, but Ezra did not bother looking back, waving a hand over her shoulder instead.

* * *

Alec awaited his father's presence in the King's private study. In his youth, Alec knew, his father had preferred the alcove in the library for doing research and having private meetings. It was a trait he had passed on to his son by simply letting Alec attend many of those meetings as a boy before being sent off to the military academy at Marloven Hess. But as he grew older and the library became a more fashionable place for courtiers to haunt, the King had found that having his own private study was more conducive.

His father's valet had let Alec know upon his arrival that his wait could last quite a while more, making him late for his scheduled meeting with Ezra Fyn. His father was in an early breakfast meeting with his mother and some of the ambassadors from neighboring countries. Alec released a quiet sigh as he settled back into the cushions on the floor. He was fine with the wait. It would give him more time to control his initial fit of temper upon learning of Thanyl and Ezra's relationship.

After a few moments of the wolfhound, Ash, licking his face and generally demanding that his master return to his usual good humor, Alec had felt ridiculous for allowing himself to behave as he had to Thanyl, his mother, and finally to his own valet. It was unacceptable, and Alec felt horrid for venting his frustration on others so carelessly.

At the first click of the door catch releasing, Alec sat up, correcting his posture, and awaited his parents' entrance into the room.

His mother was the first to stride in, the end of her long braid of hair dangling from the coil around her head to hang like a silver and copper tail down her back and her skirts rustling about her legs in agitation.

"Well, I hope you're more civil now than you were earlier," she scolded.

"I am. You have my sincerest apology for my behavior." Alec stood and went to his mother. He bent and kissed her cheek. "Good morning."

"Belated, but better than nothing," Meliara smirked up at her son.

"Alec," Vidanric greeted his son. "To what do we owe this early morning summons?"

Alec allowed the three of them to seat themselves on the cushions before he began speaking.

"The sessions I've been having with Ezra Fyn are becoming redundant," he said without preamble. "She has a good grasp of basic tactics. She learns quickly—she took what she knew from her days as a pirate and transferred it effortlessly to large-scale naval situations. It was Ezra who first realized that the Brotherhood's attack pattern suggested a spy in Sles Adran. I think she is ready for her to take her ascension test and officially become a captain in the navy."

"Would this have anything to do with the rumors going around about the two of you?" his mother asked.

Alec resisted the impulse to roll his eyes.

"No. There have been rumors before. If it was not me and Ezra it would be me and some other woman."

"Besides," he continued, "this way we can leave for Sartor sooner. The first snows are already falling. If we wait too much longer to leave, we will be waiting all winter. And while attacks are limited in the cold months, I would rather strive for an advantage over them while we have the time."

The King nodded. "A sound plan. You know we will need to speak to Newbeth and Tedescun. If they agree with your assessment, I would be happy to allow Mistress Fyn the chance to prove her worth."

Alec felt the muscles in his neck relax a bit.

"Thank you, Father." He glanced at the time candle and stood. "And now I must hurry. I'm already late for what will hopefully be the last of Ezra's lessons."

"We'll see you at lunch?" Meliara asked.

"I will try to be there," Alec promised. He nodded once to his father and exited the room.

* * *

For once, Ezra turned up for her command lesson before Rider and was surprised to find their usual study room devoid of his presence. No scattered papers or unrolled scrolls. Everything was in its place. She huffed at his tardiness and settled onto a plump cushion, propping her head on her fist as she leaned against the low table. The steady sound of her own breathing lulled her thoughts into drifting and gradually led them to Thanyl.

He had surprised her with a small picnic basket during lunch. It was, she learned, completely within bounds for army personnel to carry on dalliances so long as it did not interfere with their official duties. However, it was not encouraged for fear of distracting those involved and others close to them.

Thanyl had regaled her with stories from his youth and during his seventeen year military career. His devotion to the Remalnan military was apparent, as was his strict sense of right and wrong. His moral compass, unlike hers, was always steadily pointing in one direction. In fact, he reminded her of her father, Dathan – what she could remember of him of course. She tried envisaging a life with this man, drawing upon what she could recall from her parents' marriage. She supposed it would be a life of constancy, barring the infrequent changes in appointments within the army. He was an easy-going companion who was slow to anger and quick to forgive, the perfect foil to her notorious temper.

_Opposites do attract, _she mused.

And it wouldn't be so bad, really. Ezra had spent her whole life in constant motion, never slowing except when the winds failed or stopping in port for more than a week or so unless the ship needed repairs. Her time at The Port Vineyard was the longest she'd ever been in one place for long stretches of time since she was a small girl and her grandfather took her with him out to sea after her parents' deaths. It would be nice to have something stable in her life.

_As long as he doesn't try to tie me down too tightly._

Neither Gypsies nor pirates were known to do well in constraints, and she was both.

Her running train of thoughts was interrupted by an impatient hand batting aside the tapestry. In strode Rider with a forbidding expression on his face, his arms full of the usual assortment of maps and charts and tacks, pins, and string used for plotting battle strategies. He kneeled on his cushion in the formal manner and gave her a curt nod, "Good morning. I trust you're well?"

"I am." She decided to make an observation, "You're late."

"I apologize. I was preoccupied with other matters. For one, we'll be setting off for Sartor a month in advance. It was decided that we could do with more time for planning the advance with our allies at the Summit. Hence, today will be your last Command lesson at Remalna. Your advancement test will be at the end of next week. If you pass, you will be fully instated as a captain in the Remalnan navy. However, if need be, your lessons will continue on the road and in a few more weeks you will be retested, and so on until you pass." He paused in setting his supplies down to glance up at her, "I trust this won't affect any of your plans?"

"What plans? My entire life here has been pretty much planned by you." She tried, but could not completely hide her resentment.

If he detected the sarcasm in her tone of voice, he ignored it. "Your plans with Thanyl, of course. He will most probably travel with us to the Summit though I can't guarantee a similar posting when it comes to setting the battle plans."

"Oh, it's fine," she said off-handedly. Then she realized. "Wait, you've heard too?"

Rider looked up sharply. "It's fine?"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't it be?" He looked confused, but Ezra had to know. "Wait, wait. How did you hear?"

"Thanyl told me. And you're sure it's fine?" Rider reiterated.

Alec could not, for the life of him, come to terms with Ezra's easy acceptance of her possible separation from Keriam. He had half – no, more than half—expected her to insist upon having Thanyl by her side.

"I'm positive it's fine," she replied. "Are you all right? You're acting very strange."

So much for being angry at her. Her cavalier attitude about the whole situation was unsettling, to say the least, but it certainly made it much easier for him to keep rein of his fraying nerves. He was determined to be rational about the circumstances that he found himself in. He would be civil and polite; he would ask no more questions about their dalliance than was necessary to conduct business; and he most certainly would not demand that she explain herself.

"I'm fine. I've just been preoccupied," said Alec.

"I know. You said that a moment ago." She smiled at her own wit.

Alec felt an answering, self-deprecating smile tug at the corners of his mouth, but he managed to squelch the urge.

Burn it! He should be angry with her!

"Yes. I did. Let's get down to business shall we? We shall review what you have learned thus far, and touch on a few further topics that may come up in your testing."

"Whatever you say," Ezra acquiesced as she took her seat across the table.

_If only she was always so accommodating,_ he mused.

* * *

The large central bonfire burned high in the center of the _vardo_ wagons parked in a ring outside the palace walls. Most of the _kumpania_ were inside the circle sitting around their individual cook fires, banked now that the evening meal was finished. Dishes were being washed, children were playing as the last of the light faded from the horizon, and several musicians had struck up individual tunes at different places inside the circle. No one played the same song, but together they created a cheerful blend of dueling notes.

Outside the ring of families and friends, a group of men and women gathered. Faces were veiled by the darkening night, but everyone here knew each other. The word had passed throughout the week of the meeting, each man or woman being invited separately, and only those who were loyal enough not to speak about it to the others. Not until it was time.

"I don't see why we don't take this to the Lucru Ales," one of the women said.

"Because the Lucru Ales has been taken in by the _ray baro_," a man retorted. "They're holding us captive here, and she is allowing it."

"For our protection," another man said. "My sister-in-law in the _Alura_ tribe was in the south when those murders started. Gruesome. Women stoned. Children chased by dogs. Men horsewhipped and hung on trees."

"And you think that it's a coincidence these _gadje_ royals are now keeping us confined?" the first man asked.

"I don't like it," a second woman hissed, her voice rough with age. "I don't like this being watched all the time by palace guards. Protection…bah! I'll tell you what—they think we do have something to do with those pirates and they're just keeping us around to watch us."

"Typical behavior for them. Liars, all of them, and then they don't believe us who don't lie."

"I won't listen to this!" argued the man who spoke in defense of the royals. "Katja, I don't know why you brought me here."

"Iile, just listen!"

"Even if what they're saying is true, the fact is, we _are_ being watched. What a way to endanger ourselves, eh? Plotting while inside the city gates."

"Then we had best move quickly, shouldn't we?" the first man said. "We are being treated like beasts. We are being held captive. Are we going to stand for this?"

A chorus of "No!" and one man attempting to pull away from his wife's clutches followed.

"And it's not just in her faith in the _gadjes_ that the Lucru Ales has failed us. She is actually considering allowing a murderer to return to the _natsia_. A man we have voted to banish. And she wants to let him back in."

"Who?"

"Djillia, the singer."

"He killed his father!"

"Loredana would never allow such a thing to happen."

"She is."

"She wouldn't! She wouldn't let back in a man who killed his own father."

"She would if the King and Queen told her to."

"_Gadje Gadjensa, Rom Romensa_. They have no business telling our people what to do, how to mete justice."

"Her granddaughter is speaking for them now."

The old woman spoke up: "I've seen her and Loredana speaking. I know that it was the girl that told Loreh to come to the palace in the first place. She said so. Said she never would have brought us here if her granddaughter had not said that it would be for the best."

"I have seen them, too," one of the men said. "It's almost always an argument they're having when I see them. The girl has some power over her grandmother to get her to do these things."

"If she has influence over the Lucru Ales to keep us here, what else might the little _rakli_ be whispering in her ear?"

"More than that, what power might the Lucru Ales be willing or persuaded to give to the girl?"

"Do you think she would be put up for the_ natsia_ to vote on?"

"Surely not."

"She's not one of us."

"She has done nothing to prove herself."

"Far too young for such responsibility even if she was a true Rom."

"Which she is not."

"She's too close to those royals."

"I don't trust her."

"And she was the one who suggested that Djillia be given a second trial."

"She is manipulating poor Loreh's affections for her own gain. Despicable girl!"

"Now, Iile? What do you think?"

"I don't know. I will not turn against my people _or_ my Lucru Ales."

"I am not suggesting that we rise up tonight, Iile. Simply that we keep watch. The more eyes we have watching the goings on about us, the better prepared we will be if things go badly."

"I can agree to watch. No more than that."

"Thank you, Iile. Thank you all. Go back to your fires. We will speak more about this later, when we have more to discuss. I ask that you keep my warnings in mind, though. This will not be the last I speak of them."

_

* * *

___

Translations

_:_

_Rar baro_—Great lords, the _gadje_ judges and representatives of power; in this case, the King and Queen directly

"_Gadje Gadjensa, Rom Romensa_"—"Gadje with Gadje, Rom with Rom"

_rakli_—non-Gypsy girl

* * *

A/N: We apologize for the extremely late update! And hope that this chapter will perk you up before your final exams – if you have them next week like I do! Please read and review!


	15. Rising

Gypsy Queen

Chapter 15: Rising

Ezra shook her head as she made her way up the long cobbled drive. There were at least thirty large, decorated traveling carriages lined up in front of Athanarel's doors along with two dozen luggage wagons. None of them yet had horses harnessed to them as the large party traveling to Sartor would not be leaving until noon two days hence. At the moment, servants were busy loading the carriages and wagons with the trunks of their masters and mistresses. There were a dozen nobles of the highest rank going to Sartor—nominally for some seasonal festivities that the king and queen were hosting—as well as another fifteen or so lesser courtiers who would travel along in the entourage of their better connected relatives.

To Ezra's surprise, the largest carriage did not have the royal crest on its doors but that of Chamadis. Lady Tara herself, dressed in a fox fur coat and hat with white velvet trim, was outside directing her maids and footmen on the correct way to stack and secure her belongings to her officious transportation. Ezra ducked around some of the scurrying servants to avoid the heiress's notice. She had heard that Rider's second cousin was quite the gossip.

She shook her head at the irony of how she came by that information but, all the same, she thanked her stars she managed to avoid Tara's gaze.

Inside the main doors of the palace—a place Ezra would normally not come; usually she preferred to enter the servants entrance along the side of the west wing—she spotted another familiar face. Marquis Flauvic of Merindar stood with several other male courtiers, all dressed in deference to the chilly weather. Ezra slowed her pace so that she could steal more than a glance. She had never seen such pretty men in her life as she saw here in the palace. Their hair shone like it had been spun out in silk, or waxed and polished to a gleam. Their clothing was all new, neatly pressed, and not a stitch out of seam or a single sagging button hole to be found. They all stood with their backs straight, even when they appeared to slouch back in apparent carelessness. It was enough to make any woman's mouth water.

And oh, what luck, but Flauvic himself looked up in time to catch her walking by and nodded a farewell to his friends to come greet her. Ezra swallowed a self-effacing smirk at how uneasy she was around this man. It was not the same jitters and discomfort that she felt around Rider; she was not worried about what he might spark out of her whether it was violence or savage innuendo. With Lord Flauvic she was always aware that she was a woman, and a woman outclassed and outmatched when it came down to that. Even the scar across his cheek could not detract from his beauty and confident grace.

"The soon-to-be Captain Fyn," he greeted her with a shallow bow. "I assume you are off to your examination?"

"I am," she answered after executing a militaristic bow in return. She feared she would never master a curtsy if she were asked to perform one. She certainly didn't dare with so many cultured eyes on her now. Ezra looked around the royal foyer and found several clusters of courtiers watching the meeting between her and Flauvic Merindar with interest. Would she never stop being a source of gossip for these people?

"Alec is putting a good deal of confidence in you," the Marquis said. "He has been assuring the review board which will be testing you this morning that you will undoubtedly pass; that you will even exceed their expectations."

Ezra could feel herself blushing and hoped that Lord Flauvic would think the redness in her cheeks was from the cold wind blowing outdoors. She quickly turned her face away from his scrutiny and changed the subject.

"I didn't see Merindar's crest on any of the carriages out there. I thought you are on the war council."

He nodded. "I am, and I will be going, but I'll be riding with Alec and Nadav in the royal coach if we tire of riding astride, or if the weather dictates. Elestra will be remain here at Athanarel this time."

Ezra briefly wondered why but then recalled the news that she had heard several weeks ago. "Oh, that's right! She had the baby! Another girl, I hear."

"Yes," he confirmed, and Ezra wondered if she were seeing a bit of color in his cheeks as well. "Elestra has talked me into naming her Melody. Though the way the thing screams, I suggested Ruckus."

Despite the way he spoke of his new infant daughter, Ezra could hear the pride and the love in his voice. She did not know much about the Marquis, but she had gathered from some of the things Elestra said during their infrequent conversations that her husband's early life had not held much in the way of family or affection—two things that, despite the occasional ugliness of a pirate's life, Ezra had had in spades. For the first time, Ezra actually felt a little sorry for an aristocrat.

"Melody is a fine name. Very pretty."

"Mm. Her grandmother seems to think we named the baby for her. Nothing I say seems to be able to disabuse Mel of the notion, even the fact that she can't carry a tune to save her life."

She chuckled, and after another moment of pleasantries, Flauvic extended an invitation to join him and Elestra for luncheon after her examination. Ezra accepted, a voice in her head wondering when she became so thick with the diamond lot. Then she made double time to the same large room in which the royals held their war meetings. Only this time, instead of being invited to sit, offered something to drink or eat while she listened and gave an occasional opinion or confirmation, Ezra stood across the table from the King, the Prince, a general Rider had introduced as Mishalle, and six others whom Ezra couldn't recall the names of in the face of her rising nerves.

The King spoke, and Ezra must have answered correctly because he moved straight on with the proceedings. Each of the men—and one woman so bulky and sour that Ezra had not been able to tell her sex until she spoke—asked her questions. There seemed to be no order to their asking, and few of the questions had anything to do with the one asked immediately before, but some questions referred to answers that she gave two or three, or even six or seven questions prior.

Ezra stood there long enough that her legs started to ache and she wished she was allowed to sit down. She tried to shift her weight discreetly so her judges wouldn't know she was uncomfortable. The fear that they would take any twitch as a sign of weakness fueled her resentment and anger and gave her strength to stand and take them—question after question. As time went on, Ezra found herself calming until she could finally concentrate on the questions rather than answering on some panic-driven sense of self-preservation.

"Last question, Cadet Fyn," the woman said after Ezra had stood under interrogation for nearly a candle. "Prince Alaraec has informed us that it was you who first linked the pattern of attacks committed by the Brotherhood of the Damned."

She waited until Ezra confirmed it although obviously this was not the "last question" the female general had been referring to.

"If you would please recount for us how you were able to discern the connection, and how you would go about countering such an attack?"

Ezra flicked her eyes to Rider. She tried to keep her face as clear as possible and still hoped that he understood the question she wanted to ask. She had already explained her discovery and had already heard several opinions on how best to counter such an attack in the war council meetings she was either required or requested to attend—she still wasn't exactly sure which.

Alec did not so much as blink but she thought she saw a slight inclination of his head. Not quite a nod, but something to signal her to continue. Ezra shook her head and faced the other nine members of the review board.

"I've already told everyone who's in charge of strategy how I figured out that there's a spy in Sles Adran. And I've heard what the admirals and generals and spy master have to say about how to deal with it—fighting and diplomacy-wise."

"And?" General Mishalle asked in his gruff, abrupt manner.

"And, it doesn't seem like a fair question," Ezra said. "It seems too easy, like it was chosen so that I could answer it."

Mishalle and Rider shared a brief look that Ezra could not interpret. It was too quick to tell if their reaction was one of disappointment or satisfaction. Ezra was tempted to reach across the wide table and thunk their heads together.

"I don't want it said that I cheated or that I was handed anything," she insisted. Ezra turned her head to glare at Alaraec. "I've told you before. I've earned everything I've ever gotten, including the things I stole."

"Please," one of the other men—Admiral something-or-other—said, "answer the question regardless of how simple or difficult it appears."

Ezra sighed and stepped up to the table where several maps that she had used to illustrate her answers were already rolled out and weighted down. She cleared one of the colored glass pebbles to be used to mark strategic positions and began to repeat her analysis of what she had seen in the attacks on the cities inside the strait.

"And how would you counter this method of attack?" the female general repeated.

"Find out who that spy is and gut the little bastard to stop him from letting the burning pirates through," Ezra snapped. She immediately winced at her words and tried again, not noticing that the men and woman opposite her smiled in agreement. "But obviously that's not my job. Suppose what I'd do is one—inform the Adranis that they have a spy and let them find him or her. Of course, I'd also have someoneI trusted there to hunt him down just to make sure the Adranis aren't double-crossing us," she muttered.

"Battle tactics, Ezra," Rider prodded.

Ezra glanced up to glare at him and caught a wisp of a smile being jolted from his face by what she would swear was his father kicking him under the table. Did royalty do that? And had he been teasing?

Ezra's stomach clenched. It was probably annoyance and nervousness, she told herself. She licked her lips and focused her attention back on the map, studying it.

"The next thing I would do," she continued, "is assume the worst, that the Adrani's are working with Norsunder, or at least that someone very high up has given their ships, the Brotherhood's ships, access across their maritime borders."

Ezra silently congratulated herself on the use of the phrase "maritime borders." She hoped Rider had noted it, as well. It proved that she really had been paying attention in their sessions. However, she did manage to keep herself from looking up at him again. Who knew what expression would be on his face this time. She wasn't sure she wanted to find out. She didn't know how it would effect her concentration at the moment.

"Given that assumption—" another word that Rider should be proud of her using—"I'd have several ships patrol each mouth of the strait for signs of the Brotherhood trying to sneak in. Keeping just outside Adrani waters, of course, and using spyglasses. Oh, and those enchanted cases that allow messages to pass from person to person.

"You know," she said, this time deliberately looking up at the Prince, "it would be much more convenient if those cases somehow let the holder know when a new message has arrived. It could ring a chime, or play some bars of music, or vibrate, or turn hot or cold. You should get your sister on that. Isn't she supposed to be a mage?"

Again, his mouth was twitching. Ezra realized that his mouth always seemed to do that when she was around and not angry with him. He really had a very nice mouth; her grandmother had been right. Ezra considered turning away in embarrassment, but chose not to. After all, she had Keriam now (Thanyl, she corrected herself), and she no longer had to feel nervous around Rider.

Even if his grey eyes did glow like moonlight behind clouds when he answered, "I'll make sure to suggest it to her."

This time a soft scuff could be heard the moment Rider's leg jerked. His father was definitely kicking him under the table. And this time it was Ezra's mouth that twitched in a repressed smile.

"Anyhow, rather than just float about aimlessly eating up funds on food and fresh water, some sort of excuse for being stationed just outside the Hook Shoals would probably be best—salvaging a sunken ship that had some national treasure, or acting as guard for some idiot aristo who got a new ship as a toy and doesn't know the bowsprit from the keel and decided to brave the shoals." She glanced up at the council and offered them a half-apologetic smile then looked down the table at the Duke of Savona. "No offence."

"Oh, none taken," he drawled in return, a genuine grin bowing his lips.

"With an excuse in place, we could block that entrance and force the Brotherhood to go in through the eastern mouth of the strait rather than the southern. Or, if they did try to attack, since I doubt Sles Adran would allow us to fully blockade their waters, the communication cases would let us get off a warning to the other ships in the area to have them sail to the besieged ship's aid.

"Actually," Ezra mused, leaning over the table, her palms flat on the map and holding some of her weight, and one hip cocked out to the side. "If my ship were the sighting ship, I'd fall back in a strategic retreat. It would allow time for the other nearest ships to get to me. And if the Brotherhood took the bait, it would lure them into a trap." Ezra nodded, her words speeding up as her excitement and surety grew. "And, there is no way Sles Adran or whoever is aiding the Brotherhood would tip their hand so far by helping the pirates. Judging by the pattern they went by the last few years, the crews don't attack like a fleet, they attack like pirates—well, that's the point, isn't it? It would be one ship, maybe two or three at the most, against many. Unless Sles Adran wanted to offer an all-out declaration of war against the continental alliance, they wouldn't dare come to the Brotherhood's aid. And if they did come…well, then every other country on the continent—except Norsunder, of course—would come down on them. Then the question becomes: will the alliance have the manpower and the resources to wage a battle on two fronts, one of them with 'the empire of the sea'?"

This realization hit Ezra low in the gut and hard. Her empty stomach roiled and spasmed as if it had been a physical blow she had endured, and Ezra was glad that she had been too nervous to eat breakfast that morning. They were worried about a two fronted war. And Remalna would be caught dead in the middle.

"Thank you, Cadet Fyn," the King's voice cut into her groping attempts to find an answer to the horrible question she had asked of the monarch and his country. "If you would please adjourn to the hall, the council and I will confer. Then, when we have reached a decision, we shall call you back in and announce either your promotion to the rank of captain, or we will explain our reasons behind denying you that title at this time."

Ezra bowed smartly and backed away from the table one pace before turning on the toe of her pointed boots. She reached the door, and the footmen opened it so that she need not even slow down. But just as the doors were closing her outside, Ezra stopped and grabbed the edge of one of the doors to stop it.

"Wait." All the counselors looked at her with interest and confusion, but Ezra's focus was on the King. "Your Majesty…can Remalna wage a battle on two fronts if it comes to that?"

"Remalna alone?" he asked to clarify. "No. Not alone. Even with our neighbors and the whole of the continental alliance on our side, we might not be able to do so over the long term. The strait is too narrow to set up a blockade against the Adranis, and they are not called the empire of the sea for no reason. I assure you, they do their best to live up to such a pretentious title. If we had a land war tearing up our agricultural fields and taking away our farmers to become soldiers as well as a naval war which halted the importation of food to supplement what we could not grow, we would be ruined in less than three years.

"But that is only in a worst case scenario. I am hopeful—nearly certain—that it will not get to the worst case," the King assured her. "I do not believe that the royal family of Sles Adran would allow Norsunder to take possession of the continent just across the strait from them. As I said, that strip of water is not wide. They would not want such a hungry monster so close to their own borders."

"All the more reason to inform the Adranis and find the cut-throat little wretch of a spy and keelhaul him," she suggested. "Make an example of one, and maybe the rest will back away. And if that doesn't work, the alliance should take out the Adranis first. Hard and fast. Make sure you won't have two fronts to cover."

With that, Ezra walked out the door.

* * *

Mishalle sat back in his chair and rested his hands on his great paunch. Chuckling, he turned to Alec and, waving his finger at the younger man, said, "You know? I thought the moment I heard she threw a punch at you that I would like her. I'm gratified to find that I was right."

"She thinks like a true commander," General Fabina Joess added. "She thinks big. Sees the whole field."

"It's more than that," Savona added with a sly look to his cousin. "Ezranya Fyn thinks like a politician. Remember her first answer to the question on what to do about the spy situation? She said to find the spy and gut him. Gruesome, cold blooded, but effective; and I assure you that when we do find the spy, he or she will be facing a similar fate to the one Mistress Fyn has proscribed."

"And she thinks diplomacy, as well," Admiral Corton added. "She thinks of what the royal family or their agents should do before engaging in battle. Then she thinks war strategy. She knows what's best for her and for those who sail with her, and she isn't afraid to tell you straight to your face."

"No," Alec chuckled. "Definitely not afraid to tell anyone—beggar, wise man, or king—exactly what is on her mind."

"Honorable, too," Mishalle pointed out. "She certainly answered that trick question at the end with all honor. Didn't want to take the easy way and get a simple question to answer; she wanted to let us know what an unfair question that was."

"She was also able to extract new information from old facts and attempt to answer those new questions she posed," the King said. "Very well done."

"It really is a shame she is not one of the nobility," Savona sighed and looked down the table at his young nephew. "She would have been perfect."

It was a diplomatically vague statement. Anyone could read whatever they liked into it, but only the intimates of the royal family would understand the true significance of it, and Alec could not have agreed more. Ezra was bright, vibrant, and practically hummed with energy. She was intelligent, ready to learn, easy to teach, and used her knowledge to make good decisions and find answers to troubling problems. She was vicious, but she was fair. She was willing to compromise, but if the other party proved unwilling to do so, she was happy to resort to ruthless tactics. And yet, she cared about her people. If he had not seen it first on the _Valiant_, he had had ample time to observe her with the Gypsies as she worked to calm their fears, gain them their freedom and the protection of the Crown, and act as a liaison between her grandmother and his family. Her concern for Remalna in the face of a dual-fronted war confirmed it.

And she was beautiful. He had been fascinated by Ezranya Fyn since the moment he had first seen her. Even when she hated him and he thought she was a boy, he had tried to speak to her, to comfort her, to learn about this angry, fierce soul behind flashing eyes as green as bottle glass half-hidden beneath a ragged, weather-beaten old hat. Alec had watched as she childishly flaunted a new suit of clothes to her adopted uncles, her raven black hair woven into a multitude of tiny braids. Then he watched her as she ruined those new clothes in a thunderstorm to save her ship from wreckage. She fought with a cutlass, a bow, and with magefire. She cried for her parents long after their deaths. She hit like a canon shot, and kissed like a captive bonfire, smiled like a thief, and smelled like sweet red wine and the sea.

Ezra Fyn was nothing short of stunning.

And Alec could not have her.

For the first time since hearing the news of Ezra and Thanyl's relationship, Alec felt the pain of what he had lost in giving her up. No, in never trying to have her. In never earning Ezra's trust and affection and loyalty. And now she was attached to his friend. She was coming to the Summit. Alec would be expected to be polite, even friendly in a distant and reserved form, and all the while this corrosive sense of loss would be dissolving his heart right out of his chest.

"Then we are agreed?" Vidanric broke into Alec's mourning. "Cadet Fyn has correctly answered the accepted standard number of questions to this council's satisfaction."

"A few points above standard," General Mishalle leaned over to murmur to Alec and winked.

"She has shown all characteristics of an officer and a trusted member of the Remalnan armed services," the King continued. "And we agree that she will be a valued member of our navy and an asset to our cause."

"Agreed," they chorused.

"Then let us call Captain Ezranya Fyn back to the room and tell her the good news."

* * *

After receiving her official appointment from the King and his Counsel, Ezra—now officially Captain Ezranya Fyn of the Remalnan navy—let her still shaking legs take her down the halls of the palace to the courtyard. The bells of the next candle change tolled from the highest tower. Ezra was surprised to find that it was lunch time and she was hungry. Breakfast had been a rushed, meager affair that morning. As her stomach clenched in hunger rather than nerves, she remembered the Marquis of Merindar's invitation to see Elestra at lunch.

No longer needing to worry about lessons and training sessions, Ezra wandered down to Merindar House. It had been refurbished and repaired several years before, Ezra could tell. The paint was newer than the other noble residences in Athanarel's compound. There was no ivy growth on the walls, and all the trees near the house were saplings. It made Ezra wonder if there had been a fire there once.

The door guards did not question her beyond her name. She was quickly admitted and ushered into Elestra's private parlor by a wiry stewardess where Ezra was greeted effusively by the hostess herself. Elestra Merindar was seated on a low chaise lounge, propped up by pillows and covered with warm velvet and wool blankets. Her older daughter, Elaina seated on her lap with a new doll.

A glow seemed to radiate from her as she smiled in greeting, "Ezra, what a surprise! It's so nice of you to come and visit. You've met my mother."

She gestured to the Queen seated on a divan across from her with the newest addition to the family swaddled in her arms. The Queen was dressed in a lavender silk sack dress over a deep purple velvet under dress that set off her silvering copper hair. The older woman smiled openly at the ex-pirate, confusing Ezra with her familiarity then flustering her further as she swept her gaze from Ezra's still-covered head to her black boots, beaded with melted snow.

"You'll forgive me for not standing up to greet you," Elestra continued. "I've been ordered to have plenty of bed rest."

"Oh, don't bother yourself on my behalf." Ezra shifted her weight from foot to foot as she looked around the plush, luxurious room full of bright colors, soft materials, and polished wood. She cleared her throat. "Umm… didn't the Marquis tell you? I was invited to join you for lunch. He didn't specify when so I hazarded a guess."

The Queen scoffed and shook her head, looking at her daughter.

"It's just like your husband to press more visitors upon you when you're in such a state," commented the Queen with an undignified snort. She kicked off her purple slippers with white fur lining Ezra saw as they flopped to the floor and folded her legs underneath her petite frame before reclining on the sofa.

Ezra darted a look at the Queen and said, "Should I go? I don't want to intrude."

"Mama, what a thing to say!" exclaimed Elestra simultaneously. Turning to Ezra she said, "Flauvic probably wanted you to surprise me. He knows I enjoy your company, and I've been cooped up in the house for nearly two weeks already. And you came at the perfect time! My husband's not around at the moment. He returned a candle ago, but Keneric wanted to go horse riding. Since Flauvic will be gone in a few days, I thought the two should spend as much time together as they can."

The Queen grinned ruefully. "I apologize, Mistress Fyn. I'm completely tactless and idiotic in most social situations, as my own family will tell you." She released one hand from the bundle cradled in her arm and patted the seat next to her. "Come, have a seat!"

Ezra hesitantly took the invitation and gradually fell into conversation with the two ladies. At first they spoke of general things—the weather, the Merindar children, the lunch that the servants brought in several minutes after Ezra's arrival. By and by, they began discussing the upcoming summit and the probability of upcoming war. The atmosphere of the room grew colder and heavier as the three women considered what might come of war. Ezra wondered if she was really good enough to live up to her post. The Queen worried about the effects of a second large-scale war in her lifetime—once during her children's childhood and now during the youth of her grandchildren. Elestra worried about her husband's life and well-being so far from home. She knew Flauvic hated the idea of leaving her and their children behind—the same way his father did before he was killed.

It was the Queen who turned the flow of talk to pleasanter matters. "So, Mistress Fyn, will you be attending the Marquise of Avalnae's ball?"

"I wasn't aware of being invited," replied Ezra evenly, wondering first, who the Marquise of Avalnae was, and second, how she could squirm her way out of this one without insulting anyone's feelings.

"Oh, everyone heading for the summit is invited!" Elestra assured her, a little color returning to her cheeks. "Cordalyse had asked if I could provide some form of entertainment, a play of some sort, and I have just the thing."

_Cordalyse? _Ezra wondered_. Oh, the lovely red-head with the basket of fruit._

"What's the play about?" asked Ezra.

"You, of course!" crowed Elestra with a laugh. She stopped abruptly at Ezra's mortified expression before hastily amending, "Well, not you, exactly. I drew references from your life and that of other famous female pirates such as JaJa the Pirate Queen whom I used to admire so much as a child."

"Oh," was all Ezra could manage.

"Is it a comedy or a tragedy?" asked the Queen.

"It's a drama with elaborate sets and costumes, duels to the death, and the Gypsy sword dances! Speaking of which," Elestra directed her question to Ezra,** "**you were supposed to show me how it's done, weren't you?"

"Yeah…" she replied warily. Elestra seemed to be in a very excitable mood. It was disconcerting. Was it a post-pregnancy symptom? If so, Ezra was glad she hadn't been around any new mothers before now.

"Perfect! You could demonstrate how it's done to the actors. They're trained dancers so they should be able to perform it with reasonable skill given the short amount of time they have to learn it from you." The Marquise of Merindar practically beamed with excitement at the thought of her play coming to life before the eyes of the entire court.

One did not disappoint a Princess of Remalna and the Marquise of Merindar. "I'll have to warn you that my skills are rusty at best and we don't have much time, do we?"

"Only about a day. I didn't want to tell you sooner so that you could concentrate on your test. How did you fare?" Elestra and the Queen looked at her askance.

Ezra shrugged. "Umm..well enough, I suppose."

"You'd better. Alec's stuck his neck out by singing your praises," replied the Queen.

"I didn't ask him to," huffed Ezra. The Queen certainly had the knack of raising her hackles as well as Rider.

"I'm sure you didn't," retorted the Queen. "You're an impressive young woman, Captain Fyn. You're bold, exotic, courageous,and beautiful." She had counted off each characteristic flicking out her fingers one by one. Here, she paused before adding, "I wouldn't be surprised if Alec fancies himself in love with you."

"He said that?" exclaimed Elestra.

Ezra just gaped like a fish, snapping her mouth shut only after realizing that leaving her jaw hanging for a protracted period of time made her look like an idiot.

"He didn't. I was just hypothesizing," replied the Queen looking wide-eyed and guileless. "I'm sure you've heard the rumors. However, as I understand it, you're now twoing with Commander Keriam, yes?"

Ezra nodded, stunned at this sudden, unexpected interrogation.

"Good. Thanyl is a very nice boy," said the Queen. She rocked baby Melody in her arms and regarded Ezra steadily. "The palace is rife with gossipmongers, Captain Fyn. That can't be helped. What can be helped, however, is that those who are a source of gossip ensure that their behavior is beyond reproach."

"You're the one to talk, Mama," interrupted Elestra. "Papa said you set tongues wagging the instant you arrived at court. Besides, Alec can well defend himself against malicious gossips."

"It's not Alec I'm worried about. It's Captain Fyn." The Queen had reached out to place her hand over Ezra's. "Your position in the military has been tenuous at best, based solely on the glowing recommendations of my son and his colleagues. You can ill afford having your name dragged through the mud time and again with your reckless displays of passion."

"But they're just rumors," choked out Ezra, struggling to stop the red flush from creeping up her face. Her hand burned from the Queen's touch.

"And every rumor has a kernel of truth," returned the Queen kindly. She gave Ezra's hand a pat and resumed cuddling her granddaughter. "I'm not asking you to keep your flirtations or dalliances a secret I'm just urging you to carry them out in private."

"Thanks for the advice," Ezra said, and she found that she actually meant it.

"You're welcome. Believe me, I've had my fair share of rumors and the one thing they all have in common is that someone almost…"

"…Always ends up getting hurt," continued Elestra with a grin. To Ezra she said, "Mama's been dinning that in our ears for as long as I can remember so that we don't play a part in spreading rumors or gossip."

"I also don't want you to make a cake of yourself…or of Alec," added the Queen. "Trust me, Alec does a good job of doing that all by himself – making a cake of himself, that is." She managed to coax a weak smile out of Ezra before Elestra abruptly changed the subject.

"So, I'll arrange for the players to meet with you tomorrow morning at the old garrison? You can teach them there." She reached into the drawer of a delicately carved end table and pulled out a thick packet of parchment. After flipping through the ream, she pulled out several sheets and handed them to Ezra. "Here's a copy of the scene that involves the sword dance."

"Thanks. I'll be there." Ezra accepted the proffered foolscap with business-like sobriety.

The Marquis of Merinda chose that moment to make his grand entrance with his son perched atop his shoulders. "Good afternoon, ladies! Captain Fyn, why the long face? Alec just informed me that you passed the ascension test with flying colors!" At that, he swung a squealing Keneric from his shoulders and into Elestra's lap.

"Flauvic Merindar, you will not toss my grandson around like a rag doll!" exclaimed the Queen.

"Dearest Meliara, your grandson is a monkey." Lord Flauvic gave the Queen a perfunctory bow. "He told me so himself, didn't you Keneric?"

"I'm a monkey!" chirped the little boy, clambering over the carved back of his mother's chaise lounge.

"And monkeys swing from trees," added Flauvic to the Queen's derisive snort.

"Your tree jokes are getting old, Flauvic," the Queen shot back.

"Not as old as you are, Meliara," he returned with a charming smile that would have melted any other heart. He proceeded to sit by his wife and said, "I've asked for lunch to be sent up." Then, he pecked her lightly on the cheek before cupping her face and drawing her into a deep, lingering kiss.

Ezra suspected that he was deliberately acting smooch-y with his wife just to annoy the Queenand hid her grin.

Ezra left a candle later feeling mentally and physically exhausted. They had spent lunch cooing over the new baby, which was perfectly fine till the Queen pressed baby Melody into her arms and insist she have a turn. It was like Rider shoving little Keneric at her all over again, only now she couldn't shove it right back or complain. She had had to grin and bear it. However, baby cuddling wasn't all that unpleasant she had to admit. Melody was light and soft and smelled delicate and new. Ezra began to wonder if she'd ever have the opportunity to cuddle her own baby. When she was a pirate, settling down and having children had been the last thing on her mind. She'd thought that leaving the ocean for so long would rip her soul out. Now, though…now, after having lived on land for a few years…she wouldn't mind taking time away from the sea to have one of these soft little creatures.

Then, the warm and fuzzy feelings engendered by baby cuddling were swept away when a promise to attend Lady Cordalyse's party was wrangled out of her. As she had promised, Elestra offered to teach her how to dance the court dances and there was no polite way of refusing in front of her mother and husband.

* * *

Alec bumped into Ezra early the next morning on his way to the practice courts. "I believe congratulations are in order," he said, sticking out his arm to shake her hand.

After a second's hesitation, she took the hand and gave it a brisk pump. "Thanks to you**,** as your mother was kind enough to point out."

His eyes narrowed with suspicion. "What did she say to you?"

"That you stuck your neck out to get me through so quickly. I'm not entirely sure if I should be grateful," she mused out loud, eyeing him with skepticism.

"The last thing I want is your gratitude. I was confident that you would do well, and I have been proven right."

"So I've been a means to an end? Stoking your already gargantuan ego?" She smirked at his mock expression of shock. "I've been reading."

Upon hearing her say that, his face lost its animation. "You don't have to say that, you know. I don't think you're stupid or slow. I never have. And if I have ever implied it, I apologize. The shocked look was meant to be for your assumption that I have a 'gargantuan ego'."

"Apology accepted," she returned with a nod, angling her head up to look at him with arms akimbo.

He realized then that they had been standing close enough for him to smell the fresh soap she used. He took a deep breath and crossed his arms to control the crazy impulse he had of drawing her into his embrace to savor the scent of her. Thankfully, she didn't seem to notice the twitch in his clenched jaw, as the sun shining from over his shoulder made her squint into his face.

"Well, want to join me for a bout?" he asked, gesturing towards the practice courts reserved for military personnel.

"Ah, no. I'm supposed to meet the players your sister contracted to perform her play. Apparently, she reserved one of the private courts for our use."

"What for?" Alec's curiosity was aroused.

"I'm supposed to teach the Gypsy dances. She wanted to incorporate it into the play." Ezra grimaced. "My skills are rusty at best. I haven't practiced in an age."

Alec laughed at the face she pulled. "Well, once an idea has gotten into Elly's head it rarely ever gets out. She made me act in one of her plays once. I'd just returned from Marloven Hess and she was adamant that I perform the skills I'd acquired there."

"Couldn't you teach the players?"

"Within a week? They could hit the target with knives, of course, but rarely were they dead center. That, even though they were not blindfolded and faced the target straight on instead of standing with their backs to it." Ezra looked disbelieving. "She wanted authenticity, you see. Be forewarned. Should the players not perform to her expectations, you could well be expected to take on a role or two."

He grinned at her expression of outrage and subsequent sputters.

_She is so easy to tease_, he thought.

Finally, she realized that he had been teasing her and calmed down. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that, shall we?" she replied with smile and a jaunty wave as they went their separate ways.

Only later did Alec realize that he wanted to see an authentic Gypsy dance or two. To be specific, he wanted to see Ezra perform. Perhaps a word with his sister was in order.

* * *

The day of the party dawned bright and clear; and Ezra was in the midst of repeating, for the millionth time, the same twirl and slash of her foil for her 'students'. "Pivot on your toes! Keep the blade close to your body till the last second before flinging your arm outwards," she barked.

The male players had stripped down only to their trousers and perspiration glistened as their muscles flowed from movement to movement. The females, too, were clad in trousers and airy shirts for ease of movement. Instead of foils, however, they danced with colorful scarves and tiny gold cymbals. Neither the foils nor the scarves were particularly gender-specific but to Ezra's disgust, the troupe master had insisted that the contrast between the masculine display of swordsmanship and the feminine grace of sinuous scarves and ribbons had greater dramatic effect.

By midday, and after a day and a half of continuous instruction and practice, Ezra was finally satisfied with their performance. Elestra had also expressed her pleasure at the fruits of their labor when she came personally to view their last few rehearsals.

"You've all done an amazing job!" the Marquise gushed. "Thank you very much. Go and get yourself ready for tonight!"

Elestra moved to stand next to Ezra as her attendants ushered the players and their obnoxious troupe master from the garrison court. "Ezra, I have one last favor to ask of you," she said with a hint of trepidation.

"What is it? I'll be more than happy to help if I may," replied Ezra, blinking to get perspiration out of her eyes.

"I was wondering if you would take a turn on the dance floor with Prince Kaelen? Something like a show of solidarity, if you will."

"Why don't you dance with him?" Ezra countered.

Elestra laughed. "Flauvic has forbid me from dancing. He says that should I wish to do so, he'll twirl me around the room without my feet ever touching the ground." She snorted, "I'll probably get him to change his mind thought. We haven't been dancing together since my belly started to get in the way. And it's been nearly a month since Melody was born. I'm healed and feeling fine. He really does get so over-protective sometimes."

Upon considering Elestra's recent pregnancy and the Marquis insisting that she rest, Ezra added, "What about your mother and cousins?"

"Oh, they will be dancing with the other ambassadors who insist upon being partnered with royalty." The comment stung her pride and some of that hurt must have reflected on Ezra's face because Elestra said, "Prince Kaelen has no such airs and I know he enjoyed your company the last time you met. Not all of us are that discriminating, certainly not anyone in my family. I hope you'll look upon this as an honor."

Her earnestness nearly crumbled Ezra's resolve. As a last effort to worm out of it, she blurted, "I don't dance any of your court dances! I don't know how and it's too late for you to teach me." She couldn't help the sense of relief that flooded her body at this convenient excuse.

"Oh! How could I have forgotten?" Elestra clapped a hand to her forehead. "And I'd promised to teach you! How could I have forgotten? I'm so sorry. I will teach you as soon as you get back from Sartor I promise."

"It's all right. You've been as busy as I have been." Ezra began rolling down her sleeves and pulling on her uniform tunic as the pair of them slowly made their way out of the garrison court.

"Perhaps you could perform a combination of the dances, using the foils, the scarves, and the cymbals instead?" She paused, assessing Ezra's reaction.

Glad to have an excuse not to dance with the Sartoran prince and still please Elestra, Ezra nodded."That, I can do. I've polished my skills up a bit in that past day or so." She grinned, her mind racing ahead at the implications of agreeing to this performance. "Are you sure it's a good idea, though? I wouldn't want to be a source of gossip anymore than I have."

"I will proclaim that you did it as a personal favor to me. As a dear friend. No one would dare say anything against a personal friend of mine. In fact, Flauvic and I will escort you to the party tonight! That should shut their traps," Elestra said with conviction.

"All right then. I'll have you know that I have no authentic gypsy dress though. Would a shirt and trousers suffice?"

"Don't worry. I'll have something suitable sent to your quarters."

Sure enough, she found a package on her bunk after her bath. Lifting the lid, she found a myriad of colorful scarves and a pair of shiny golden cymbals. Under that, there was a simple dress in the current fashion made of a layer of the sheerest white silk threaded with silver and overlaid with black lace. The only difference was the daringly low back that exposed the tattoo of a pair of the pair of gull wings she had on her shoulder blades**. **_No gossip, indeed!_ At least it covered the rest of her back which hosted stylized rigging twined in a decorative knots on the middle of her back, and spray of blue and gold lotus flowers on the V below her waist along with dozens of stars all over her body. In additionto the low-cut back, the scooped neck and empire bust line enhanced and revealed the swell of her modest bosom and a smattering of tiny star tattoos she had had inked above her left breast in remembrance of her fallen comrades.

The dress was beautifully made, and she put it on over the light, similarly cut chemise that had been at the bottom of the box to provide a layer of modesty to the gauzy, nearly translucent dress. Once on, Ezra found that it hugged what little curves she had, emphasizing her femininity in a way that none of her other clothing ever had. It had sleeves made only of black lace and was tight fitted through the torso and arms, flaring out only at the hip to swish in billowing folds at her ankles. A pair of matching white silk slippers, each with a cluster of semi-precious stones of varying hues sewn to the toes, were nestled into one corner of the package. Those she put on too, marveling at Elestra's resourcefulness**,** for how in the world had she known Ezra's specific measurements? As an afterthought, she made a mental note to enquire about the source of this fabulous dress.

* * *

Alec stood in the small parlor adjacent to the ballroom's Grand Entrance chatting with Flauvic, Kitty, and Lady Cordalyse as they waited for Elestra to make her appearance. The Marquis seemed edgy although he hid it well.

"Whatcould be taking her so long?" Flauvic muttered with a twitch of his cuff that only those who knew him well would recognize as a sign of agitation**. "**Perhaps I should go check on her."

"Your Grace is such a considerate husband. Her Highness truly is blessed," mused the Marquise of Avalnae as she waved her fan in the mode denoting Gentle Admiration.

Kitty chuckled and patted Flauvic's arm comfortingly. "Elestra's fine. Give her a moment more. She said that she had an errand to run."

A short while later, Elestra appeared, her arm linked with Ezra's. Alec noted the familiar web of silver filigree in Ezra's hair. It was the same one she had worn the first time she had joined the royal family for dinner upon their return from fighting the Brotherhood. The fine silver chains were draped artfully across her sable hair that tumbled in loose curls to her waist, making it sparkle with pale beryl gems and aquamarines. The effect was echoed in her face where her green eyes were thickly lined with dark black kohl. That was his last coherent thought, for as soon as he caught sight of her in what looked like the work of a master couturier, his brain stuttered to a halt.

"Look who I've brought!" exclaimed Elestra happily, tugging Ezra forward by the hand. Her husband enveloped her in a one armed hug as soon as she came within grasping distance, and kissed her on the top of her head. It was quite a shocking display of affection for a public setting for poor Lady Avalnae. She looked away toward the dumbfounded Alec as she fluttered her fan prettily to cool her cherry blossom cheeks. When she saw the Prince's expression, she frowned and changed tactic.

Cordalyse turned to Kitty, and asked, "Captain Fyn looks charming, does she not, Lady Ranisia?"

"Indeed she does, Lady Cordalyse," returned Kitty with an appraising perusal of Ezra. "It's so nice of you to join us, Captain Fyn," she added with a nod of satisfaction and a smile that was directed both at Ezra and Elestra who grinned.

"Please, just Ezra." Ezra would have laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation – herself in a dress, attending a ball as an honored guest, and hobnobbing with royalty – if Rider had not been staring at her with a slightly dumbstruck expression on his face. It was disconcerting, him staring like that. "What's your problem, Rider? Haven't you seen a girl in a dress before?"

"No, I just haven't seen _you_ in a dress before," he replied honestly. "You look beautiful."

She just knew she had flushed red at his compliment, and her skin probably looked burned against the pure white of her gown.

"Thank you." Realizing that she ought to at least try to return the compliment, she stuttered, "You look…very nice, too."

She found that she meant what she said as she surveyed the severe cut of his formal midnight blue coat hemmed and delicately embroidered with fine gold thread and tastefully lined with diamonds at the cuffs and down the outside of his sleeves. The darkness of his coat set off the exquisite pale gold of his hair and the stormy grey of his eyes. His white trousers were tucked into knee-high blackweave boots that shone with polish.

A growing musical rumble from the orchestra signaled their entrance. The Marquis of Merindar extended an arm to his wife and the Lady Ranisia while Alec was flanked by Ezra and Lady Cordalyse.

"After you," the Marquis addressed Alec as they made began to make their way down the curving stairs. Ezra noted with a hint of displeasure that Lady Cordalyse seemed completely at ease as they made their way through the politely applauding crowd, accepting compliments with a pretty smile or fan flourish. Ezra, on the other hand, was tense and her palms were clammy.

"Where did you get that dress made?" asked Rider in a low whisper.

"Your sister loaned it to me. She tells me she it was made for her by a dear friend. It was a lucky coincidence that we're of a size." Ezra shrugged.

They had made their way without incident to the bottom of the stairs. "Well, if I hadn't known, I would've thought that the dress was made for you," mused Alec. "It certainly complements your coloring far better than it does hers. Furthermore, I've never seen her in this dress before."

"Elestra's very generous, and I can't ask for a better friend when I find myself in situations such as this one." She indicated their surroundings with a tilt of her head, causing the gems in her hair to wink in the light. "Although, she's the one who insisted that I come in the first place." She grinned at the irony.

He smiled at her before turning his attention towards disengaging his left arm from Lady Cordalyse's hand. "My lady, I'm sure you have hostess duties to attend to. I shan't keep you."

The Marquise smiled sweetly, though she cut a sad, hurt look toward Ezra, and curtsied. In response, Alec bowed, dragging Ezra down into a bob that she executed clumsily. She gritted her teeth in annoyance.

_Can't I just salute? _Ezra griped in her head._ I've finally gotten the hang of that._

After Lady Cordalyse departed to make her rounds, Alec escorted Ezra towards the refreshment table. "Did you invite Keriam along?" he asked, immediately hating himself for what he knew was petty jealousy.

"It's not my place to be inviting anyone. Besides, I think he'll disapprove of my dress. I know him well enough to know that he would be shocked to see me wearing something so daring. It is rather revealing after all." She brushed her free hand against her skirts, suddenly aware that Rider was scrutinizing her décolletage. "What are you looking at?" she asked, pressing the same hand to her chest defensively.

"Are those tattoos?" he inquired, quickly averting his eyes.

"Get a good look?" she hissed, stepping back and causing many eyes to swivel their way. "Yes, they're tattoos," she whispered so as not to cause a scene.

"How many do you have?" He handed her a glass of wine.

She took a sip. "Quite a few stars scattered all over. Here, at the back of my neck, the base of my spine,**" **she turned over her left hand and hiked up the lace sleeve to reveal the underside of her wristwhere two more black stars shone, "plus a couple at both my wrists and ankles."

He took a shallow breath, as if it was too painful to breathe. Whenhe caught his breath he gave a low whistle of admiration. "I'm impressed. The pain must have been unbearable."

"Not as painful as… never mind." She seemed lost in thought as she nibbled on a cake. "Besides, I didn't get them all at the same time. My collection built up over the years. The stars are for crewmates who died. The others all have their own stories. You'll probably never hear them, though…."

Alec nodded, and seeing that she continued to pay more attention to her cake than to him, he decided to change the subject.

"Don't worry, the dress isn't as revealing as you think it is. I do believe you'll set a new fashion, judging by the looks of envy. In fact, I have inkling of who made that dress." She looked up at him with wide eyes, a mixture of curiosity and excitement in her gaze.

"Who?"

"I can't be certain but I think your couturier made a dress for Oria's Flower Day a few years back. It was made of the palest gold silk draped across one shoulder and cinched under the bosom. What got people talking was the fact that both her arms were bare! And she went completely gloveless. Her only ornamentation was a wreath of yellow jasmines denoting grace and elegance in her hair." He smiled at the memory. Oria had been the epitome of grace and elegance that night. "All the ladies and even some of the men scrambled to get similar gowns made the next day!"

"You still haven't answered the question," she said testily.

Alec could tell that she was losing her patience and in order to avoid losing her company he said, "I can't answer the question. The couturier I have in mind rarely takes commissions; and when she does, it is only for her closest friends. She prefers to keep her talent a secret so as to avoid being inundated with requests."

"Well, help me thank her when you next see her. I don't believe I'm worthy of such a rare treasure. Even I'm only borrowing it for the evening." Ezra sighed; she would miss this dress—silly though it was to pine for something that would and could never be hers to keep.

"Haven't I told you to be wary of Elly? She always has tricks and surprises up her sleeve. I think she had that made for you."

"But this would have taken weeks or at least days to complete! She just invited me two days ago." She paused to contemplate the events of the past few days.

"Then she must have been planning to give it to you for a while and this party provided her with the perfect opportunity." It was just like his sister to be so perfectly diplomatic. She must have known that Ezra would have refused such a gift had it been given outright. Now, since Ezra was the first person to wear the dress, no matter how much she insisted that the garment was borrowed, Elly could deny that the dress was ever hers!

Suddenly, Ezra asked, "Where's Prince Kaelen?"

"He left for Sartor a few days ago. Why?"

"Elestra had asked me to dance with him but I refused because I couldn't dance your court dances. So she requested that I perform a Gypsy dance instead." She lapsed into silence, thinking.

"And you readily agreed because you felt bad for not being able to dance with Kaelen?" Alec laughed out loud at his sister's ingenuity. "It's the oldest negotiating trick in the book! I have to take my hat off to Elly." He shook his head in consternation, "And here I thought no one could outsmart the great Captain Fyn. No wonder she always tells me that you're the most amicable person to work with!"

"I think I'll have a strongly worded conversation with you sister once this is over," said Ezra with a frown, sending him into spasms of laughter that he attempted to conceal to no avail. His hilarity made her smile, then giggle, then burst into chuckles.Everyone in the room was watching.

A/N: We're so sorry that this is more than 3 months late! Hopefully the fact that it's nearly 10,000 words long will help make up for our tardiness! In case you were wondering why things took a while, we split our time between working on chapter 15 and the transforming this entire thing into an original piece of work. That means recreating our characters, places, history, and backgrounds etc. We hope to be able to get everything done soon!

REVIEW!

FS&EG


	16. Summit

Gypsy Queen

Chapter 16: Summit

The morning the Remalnan court set out for the summit, a wet snow fell in great white clumps like soggy wool. It slowed the progress of the servants as they trudged through the growing layer of snow to their masters' and mistresses' coaches with the last of the nobles' belongings. The great court ladies dressed in their warmest traveling clothes—thick wool and velvet gowns that were still slim enough to help accommodate three of four similarly dressed women in one carriage—huddled in groups near the palace doors and watched their servants work. The gentlemen tried to be more daring and stood further away from the building, their considerably less decorative hats pulled low over ears and the high collars of their brocade coats flipped up against the wind that drove the snow down diagonally when a gust came up.

Ezra watched from her place in line with the other military personnel as the Chamadis coach was loaded down with nearly twice the luggage of many of the others. Her eyes flicked to the group of men already mounted, waiting near Lady Tara's conveyance. Nadav, Rider, and Flauvic had their horses facing one another, their hot breath turning to white steam, so the three could converse while the last of the loading occurred. Tara, already inside the coach, joined their tête-à-tête through the window of the carriage.

Ezra frowned at the Prince as memories of last night's public humiliation arose in her mind.

It had been wonderful at first when the players brought Elestra's words to life on the stage. They performed what they had learned in their short, intense lessons with remarkable credibility. The Marquise of Merindar curtsied in graceful acknowledgement as the last round of applause drew to a close. Then, with a smile that bordered on a grin, she bid everyone welcome Ezra and clear a space in the middle of the dance floor.

A hush fell over the expectant crowd as she took a step onto the empty dance floor, before suddenly remembering to remove her slippers. She first attempted to kick the snug-fitting footwear off, failed, and the Prince, who had not left her side since the beginning of the evening, went down on one knee to help. She laid a hand on his shoulder to maintain her balance, very conscious of how ridiculously gallant he was being and how uncomfortable he was making her. She shivered when his calloused hands grazed her foot and slid it off followed a moment later by its mate.

When her feet were finally bare and the cool tiles lightly chilled her toes, he looked up at her with a twinkle in his eye and a smile playing across his lips, "Done."

That one word filled threw her mind back in time. She was five years old, and instead of Rider kneeling before her, she saw her mother in his place tying the ankle bells to little Ezra's feet. Then she lifted her face to look up at Ezra through the same beryl green eyes lined with sooty lashes that she had passed on to her daughter.

"Done."

"What?" Alec asked, seeing her solemn expression.

"Nothing," Ezra shook her head. She turned her face away as Rider stood up. Ezra took the long scarves presented to her by the servant Elestra waved forward.

_This is for Mama, _she thought as her skirts swished across the tiled floor.

The scarves trailed from her wrists in wisps of red, gold, blue, and green. The tiny gold cymbals winked from between her fingers as she took up position in the center of the room under the great chandelier that shone and sparkled with the dozens of firesticks. She silenced the last few whispers of her audience with a metallic _ching!_ of the cymbals before slowly entering her starting pose of arched back and pointed left foot. A scarf dangled by her face as she framed the upper part of her body within the oval of her arms.

The musicians struck the drums and tambourines. The poised stillness with which she had herself vanished and Ezra became a whirl of silks and scarves. Her feet seemed to remember the steps her mother had taught her so very long ago without her mind needing to direct them. Her hands mimicked the flutter of butterfly wings and the gentle fall of a spring rain as if she encompassed the very essence of nature's wonders within her fingers. Her breath rose and fell with the syncopated beat of the drums and her body swayed to the twisting melody of the fiddle. The music seemed to seep into her very bones as the studied grace she had learned as a child gave way to a sensual, almost wild performance.

As her audience began to clap in time to the beat, she threw caution to the wind and twirled dangerously close towards those standing on the periphery of the make shift dance floor. Elestra couldn't suppress a giggle as Ezra went by, trailing a scarf across the Marquise's collar bones. A young lord captured her by the wrist, causing her to whirl into his laughing embrace. A flick of her fingers sent a sharp cymbal chime ringing in his ears, causing him to wince. A quick twist of her hips and she was gone, his companions laughing uproariously as he pressed a hand to his ear. Along she went, taunting here, teasing there; she ended it with a leap and a pirouette, returning to her original pose when the last note died. She was breathless and tendrils of hair were plastered to her neck and back. The crowd applauded, some more enthusiastically than others, when the final chord and beat was done.

Ezra swept an extravagant curtsy—without wobbling, she was proud to notice—to acknowledge their applause, heart pounding she breathed deeply to catch her breath before lifting a hand to brush the hair that had escaped from her silver hair net from her face. Then Lady Cordalyse reclaimed the floor by inviting her guests to partake of the refreshments. Ezra looked at the wine and champagne glasses set out on one of the long side tables with longing, but she was suddenly surrounded. A swarm of lords and ladies descended upon her with praise and exclamations of delight. She froze at the press of bodies and grasping hands that picked at her dress and scarves, but somehow managed to stutter out her thanks. Soon, the different faces began to blend together in her mind's eye, and the probing hands became uncomfortable – she distinctly felt someone grope her bottom and another caress her exposed back. Apparently noblemen were no different from pirates in some respects. Ezra's first reaction was to jab her elbow back into the lecher's face, but she had enough sense and self-control left to realize that doing so to a courtier would be a huge breach of conduct.

Thus, the rush of relief she felt when Rider came forth with two glasses of sweet iced wine in hand to extend his congratulations. "That was beautifully done," he said with a smile that invited her to smile with him. "Elestra will be begging you to perform with swords next!"

He offered her a glass of the chilled brew which she accepted gratefully, moving away from the pawing throng. Grinning, she replied, "I didn't think to impress the jaded toffs, much less you, princeling."

She hoped it didn't show that she'd stolen that line from one of the books she'd read. One of the other female cadets had been about to toss out a novel that had broken down the spine. Ezra saved it. It was romantic drivel, but Ezra justified it by reminding herself that she needed to work on her reading skills and improve her vocabulary. And the more heated scenes between the two leads had made her blush and miss Willem terribly.

"I wasn't as impressed as I was charmed," Rider teased dryly. "I would have been far more impressed if you had used foils instead of scarves." He quirked an eyebrow.

"Well, zee scarves are more feminine, no? It is very zee drah-mah-tique!" exclaimed Ezra, mimicking the troupe master earlier in the morning.

Alec laughed at her mimicry. "That is a valid point. The sight of you whirling around with swords, albeit fake ones, would likely send some people into a swoon."

"Yourself included?" her eyes sparkled over the rim of her wineglass.

"Of course. I'd faint from sheer terror!" He pressed a hand to his heart dramatically. "You _are_ very proficient with a sabre, you know." This time it was her turn to laugh.

"I'm certainly more comfortable with them."

She realized then that he had led her out onto the balcony, away from the crowd, and that he had managed it without causing a stir. "What are you doing?" she asked, as he let closed the doors behind him.

"Saving you from your newfound admirers. I saw Lord Kaspar getting a little too close for comfort," he added with a grimace.

"I do have a very luscious bottom, if I may say so myself. I've been told by at least a score of men on Tourmaline. Poor man probably could _not_ help himself," she replied cheekily, strangely unembarrassed by this discussion of her anatomy. _It must be the combined effects of excitement and wine,_ she thought. She moved to the corner where the stone railing met the wall and leaned back into the shadows, the cold stone wall cooling her bare back, her posterior perched on the rough balustrade.

"And did I mention very nice tattoos?" he returned, finishing his wine with a toss of his head. After setting the glass upon the balcony ledge he added, "Before you strangle Elly for wrangling that dance out of you though, I must confess that I was party to it too." He sat next to her, the light streaming from the ballroom casting a soft glow upon his face.

"What do you mean?" she fingered the stem of her wine glass, glad that the liquid warmth she had imbibed was spreading from her belly to the other parts of her body on this wintry night. They couldn't stay outside for long though the chill felt nice on her flushed skin after the heat of the ballroom compounded with her dance.

"Let's just say she caught me thinking out loud over dinner." He smiled mysteriously and she knew he wouldn't be cajoled to reveal more.

"Fine! I'll save part of my 'strongly worded' speech for you then." Ezra rubbed her hands up and down her arms to keep warm. "Is it safe to go in yet?" she asked, not wanting to be caught out with Rider like this.

"Right, you'll catch your death of a cold dressed like that in this weather." Alec's eyes narrowed as they scrutinized her slight form. She looked spectacular in that dress, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold, wine, or exertion? – he didn't know. He peered through the glass and said, more to himself than to her, "All clear." Then, before she could move from her perch on the balcony ledge, he tipped her face up towards his, murmured "For luck," and pressed a soft kiss to her wine glistened lips.

It was a gentle gesture but she could feel the tension emanating from him. Her wine-muddled mind must have been more confused than she had thought for she found herself leaning into that kiss almost instinctively. Thankfully, he had had the presence of mind to pull away. When she started breathing a heartbeat later, she found him standing as cool as you please by the door, a hand resting on the handle. "Ready?" he asked.

Alec watched as she rose unsteadily to her feet, picked up her empty wineglass and stepped towards him. He did not offer to help, rigid with the rein of control he had slipped back into place after that stupid, impulsive kiss. Half of him had expected her to hit him for his audacity, wanted her to hit him – to stop this foolishness; the other half had expected her to kiss him back and it felt as if she almost did but he had pulled away to save them both the embarrassment. She belonged to his friend. He had to remember that.

Ezra paused at the door that he had pulled it slightly ajar, two finger resting lightly against her lips. She cocked her head and surveyed that tightly drawn face, the hard steely gaze and thinly pressed lips; and caught a glimpse of the reason behind his alternating attitudes of polite distance and friendly camaraderie. "You should go back in," he said roughly, with an anger directed solely at himself. She slipped past him without a word and he closed the door behind her, cursing himself for the slip in his control.

In a fit of pique, he took up his empty wineglass and flung it against the nearest tree, smiling with grim satisfaction when he heard the sound of shattering glass.

* * *

Upon returning to the ballroom and wading through an opinionated throng of people – some who praised her for the authentic performance, and others who made it known that they found it utterly distasteful and improper—Ezra cornered Elestra and accused her of willfully lying and manipulating her. Threats ensued. It would have been much more effective, Ezra felt, if the Marquise hadn't been laughing the entire time. Elly thought the whole situation was gloriously funny and ended up hugging Ezra before she and Flauvic left for bed.

Ezra had left in a bewildered cloud. She couldn't decide whether to be angry, embarrassed, or amused at the situation. All the while, what had happened on the balcony nagged at the back of her mind and made her skin itch with guilt. It had only gotten worse when she returned to the women's barracks—still wearing the lace and silk gown. There she found Keriam waiting for her. He'd brought a bottle of wine. It was not as good as what was served at Lady Cordalyse's ball, but it was expensive for a soldier.

He was supposed to be her lover, and she hadn't told him that she had been invited—coerced, she still maintained—to the Marquise of Avalnae's ball. When she saw him, the embarrassment overshadowed the anger and amusement that had swirled with it a moment earlier. He would have made a scene if he were anyone but Keriam. Instead, he was coldly polite, he listened to her explain herself, and then he wished her goodnight. They agreed to meet for meals while on the trip to Sartor. He had kissed her hand. She did not sleep well.

Ezra shivered when the wind crept past her uniform coat's raised lapel bringing snowflakes with it.

Nearly two candles later than had been planned, the caravan of coaches and luggage wagons left the gates of Athanarel. After the fringes of Remalna-city were also behind them, along with the waving masses who had come out of their homes and businesses to see the parade of gentry off, they made good time. Ezra was relegated to the company of the other soldiers in the marching ranks as they traveled. She had no direct contact with Rider or any of the other nobles she was acquainted with. Ezra ate and slept with her armed compatriots, as well, for which she was grateful.

Her barrack mates had put two and two together upon seeing her togged out in that fabulous dress, and a comment from one of them sparked a flame of jealousy she hadn't known existed. She learned later that their resentment stemmed not only from her quick rise to a captaincy but from her blossoming relationship with Keriam as well. It seemed that being invited to a ball that was supposedly reserved for the nobility was the last straw. While the open hostility Ezra got from her companions was tiring, at least she wasn't creating more by hobnobbing with the royals. The other soldiers and petty officers pointedly ignored her when she rode with them. The men made comments about her fitness to serve. They seemed to think she'd been ushered through training on the King's command and was incapable of serving in true combat. When they did speak to her, it was always with a tone of condescension.

However, it was the other women that hated her the most. They actively sabotaged her bedding, her place in the food line, and her access to supplies for herself and her horse. The first night, she found that her tent stank of horse piss. The next morning, her ration of bacon was burnt to charred crisps and her grits were ice cold. The trend continued for every meal thereafter. Two days after leaving the city, her horse got a rock suck in his shoe and Ezra was somehow unable to find the kit that had been provided to remove it.

After the first week, she took to eating all of her meals with Keriam. He was able to guarantee her a fair portion of food, and they were slowly able to heal the breach between them caused by the incident at the ball. She also went directly to him when she needed something for her mount, and that was proving to be rather often. The snow that had slowed the initial progress of the party melted quickly under the clear sky and sun of the next week, turning the road to mud. It slowed their progress, and made travel a messy, cold endeavor. While snow would melt and dry off them before a fire, the mud caked onto horse and human legs and kept everyone cold. The horses needed to be tended often to keep them healthy and walking.

The journey was too long for Ezra. She hated the cold, having lived in warmer climes most of her life. The frost every night had her curling up in a ball under her standard issue wool blanket, wishing for someone to curl up next to. Her guilt over keeping secrets from Keriam, and her growing uncertainty about her choice to be with him kept Ezra from suggesting a change in sleeping arrangements to him. He might have actually agreed.

* * *

The tedium of travel was slowly wearing Alec's patience thin. The only distractions were Flauvic's occasional wry humor and glimpses of Ezra as she went about her duties. It did not help his equilibrium in the least, seeing her in Keriam's company at nearly all times. Then he would feel the sharp pain of jealousy followed by a flash of hot, self-directed anger and guilt.

That morning he came across them breakfasting together, each focused intently on their own bowl of thick, honeyed gruel. What seemed to be a companionable silence blanketed them. She tipped back her head and drank the last of her hot drink, exposing her throat. When she'd finished, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, murmured something to a somber-looking Thanyl and passed him the empty mug. Keriam came to his feet and picked up his own empty mug in one fluid motion before heading towards the cook tent. Ezra stared after him for a moment, a slight almost-smile bowing her lips. Then she'd sighed and returned her attentions to her food.

Alec debated on whether or not to approach her, to apologize for his boorish behavior that night at Cordalyse's party. However, before he could decide upon his next course of action Thanyl had returned with their steaming beverages. As he handed Ezra her mug, the smile of pure gratitude she sent him was enough to tease a reciprocal quirk of Thanyl's moustache.

_Enough!_ thought Alec before he turned away, flipping up the collar of his thick coat to shield his face from the cutting wind. He stuffed his gloved hands into his pockets and focused on the ground as he walked.

The jingle of a bridle was little warning. Alec was too lost in his thoughts to realize that he was being approached until he heard the voice next to him.

"What's on your mind?" asked Keriam.

Alec jerked in his saddle, startled that his friend had materialized out of nowhere without him noticing. The horse tossed his head in protest, and Alec patted his neck to steady him.

Keriam chuckled, "Sorry, I didn't mean to creep up on you, but did you have something you wanted to tell me?"

_Did Ezra tell him about the kiss?_ Alec scrambled to gather his thoughts and form a coherent answer. "Did you want me to tell you something?" he returned. _Very smart, Alec. Answer a question with a question. Elly would've been proud of your diplomatic, question-dodging skills._

Keriam frowned, "I thought you'd wanted to speak to me this morning when I was breakfasting with Ezra. I saw you turn about and walk away. You needn't feel bad about intruding, you know. We don't have time for social niceties in the army. Was it something urgent?"

Alec felt horrible for lying to his friend but figured that the truth about why he was loitering around Thanyl—or more rightly, Ezra—this morning would be far more damaging. "Nothing important. I just wanted to check if everything was in order. No lack of supplies, no accidents or anything of the sort?"

"No, sir. Everything's in top shape. This expedition was well planned, and I do not foresee any problems arising that we cannot account for." Keriam saluted while sitting astride his chestnut mare.

"Good," returned Alec before lapsing into his silent reverie again. He noticed that Keriam continued to ride abreast with him. Wanting to be left alone with his own thoughts, and far away from the object of Ezra's affections, he said, "You may attend to your other duties, Commander."

"I was actually hoping to have a word, Alec," blurted Keriam. The informal use of his name brought Alec to attention. It meant that the following conversation would be between friends and equals, not prince and soldier.

This breach of protocol on Thanyl's part was so troubling that Alec momentarily forgot his own feelings and asked, "What's the matter?"

His heart began its downward descent towards his belly when Keriam said, "It's about Ezra."

Keriam paused, and Alec schooled his features to avoid betraying any guilt.

"She's been facing quite a bit of hostility from her peers since attending that ball by the Marquise of Avalnae."

Alec raised a brow as if to say, _Is that all?_

Keriam colored and scratched his chin self-consciously. "The female cadets in particular have taken a strong dislike towards her."

"And you can't imagine why?" Alec retorted to his friend's embarrassment. "You've had a reputation for being a ladies man as much as I've had a reputation for being the exact opposite!" He attempted to temper the sharpness of his tone with a laugh. "You were always popular among the female cadets. It's no surprise that they'd be jealous of your relationship with Ezra."

"It's not just that. Their petty jealousies are the least of my concerns. I'm more worried about the adverse effects of such dissent within the ranks. I have to admit that I was none too pleased myself when I learned – behind the hand – that she was cavorting around at the Marquise's ball in a most unseemly dress! She didn't even have the guts to tell me what she was about, avoiding me for two days prior to our departure, and attending a ball that was not meant for military personnel!"

Alec silenced Keriam with a cutting look, prickled by his friend's harsh criticism of the gown that Kitty had had made and his all too quick assumptions of Ezra's behavior. "The dress was not in the latest fashion, but I thought Ezra looked nothing short of stunning in it."

"You didn't think it was too revealing?" asked Keriam, genuinely surprised at Alec's reaction – Alec, who was the epitome of propriety and fastidiousness.

"It was made to display her collection of tattoos to their greatest advantage. If she isn't ashamed of her legacy, why should you be?" Alec returned evenly.

"It's not her 'legacy' that I care about. It's her complete disregard for protocol and rank. It galls the others that she rubs shoulders with the nobles. They believe that she thinks herself too good for the likes of them now that she's made Captain." Keriam's white knuckled grip on his reins betrayed his agitation. The dull flush that showed through his tan complexion showed his awareness of the breach of protocol he had perpetrated himself. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to burden you with my troubles, nor cause any offence. I just thought you should know matters as they stand within the ranks." He looked younger than his years with that apologetic expression that seemed to make his moustache droop.

Alec clapped him on the back and forced a smile. "If it helps, Elly invited her to perform at that ball and gave her that dress to wear. She was practically arm-twisted into the whole thing." On a more serious note he added, "Keep me posted on the goings-on at ground level, and quietly let it be known that Ezra deserves the Captaincy that she now holds not by the grace of my Father or his advisors but by true merit."

Keriam saluted and turned his horse around before spurring it further down the cavalcade of carriages, horses and people. Alec sighed and kneed his mount forward in search of General Mishalle and Flauvic. The possibility of trouble brewing within the armed forces was serious enough to warrant their attention. Despite this unexpected problem he had to deal with, Alec couldn't help grinning at Ezra's ability to single-handedly stir up so much trouble even with her hot temper and recklessness in check.

* * *

Nearly two weeks after leaving the capitol, the Remalnans crossed the border between Remalna and Sartor. From there it was another week on more well-tended roads than those of Remalna. Sartor had paved most of their roads with cobble stones to make travel easier. It was a wide-spread project, one that Remalna was slowly trying to emulate, but did not have the manpower or resources the larger country did. After a mere two days on the paved roads, Ezra hoped that Rider and his family took the initiative to get their roads paved quickly. They made better time, and the horses didn't tire as easily.

Finally, after nearly a month after their departure from Athanarel, they arrived at the Palace of Sartor. At first, Ezra was unsure that they were nearing anything at all except perhaps the mother of all snow banks. The snow had begun to fall again in blankets. The whitewashed houses of the first line of houses belonging to Eidervaen were nearly lost until she was actually riding past them. It was not until she began to see people hurriedly moving along the streets to disappear into their homes to avoid the weather that Ezra realized they were now in a town, and not until she saw a myriad of lights glowing several stories above ground level did she realize she was in a city.

_Whose bright idea was it to have a whole city done in white?_ Ezra wondered as she unclenched one hand from around her horse's rein, lifted it from her mouth, and blew into her fist to try and warm her fingers. _Pretty in summer, I bet. Not too practical in winter. I'd hate to see a blizzard hit the city. You'd never find your way out!_

It took another hour and a half to make it through the city, and they arrived at the palace just past midday. Ezra craned her neck to look up at the huge tower in the center of the city as they rode past. It was white, too. The snow spun about the top like moths around a torch. As they approached the palace complex, the houses became more ornate. The whitewashed wood and plaster gave way to imperial marble. The richest of these houses took up whole blocks, and the white marble walls was swirled through with gold flecks, rose swirls, caramel-colored whirls, and in one marked instance, black streaks. Of course, Ezra couldn't see these details until she was nearly upon them, and then only if she looked at a place located directly under a window ledge where the snow had not begun to pile or stick.

Besides which, there was a funny feeling to the city. To the whole country, Ezra felt. It had made her skin crawl the moment she crossed the border. It seemed to her that she might get lost here—not physically, but in some other, much more frightening way. As if, if she stayed here too long, she would return to the world she knew and it would have long since passed her by. Years, decades, even centuries might have passed before she came out. It was almost like how she'd felt back at The Port vineyard, only magnified to the point of insanity. It made her want to turn her horse and race back to Remalna, burn it what Rider or the others thought of her.

Ezra nearly let out a cheer when the gates of the palace came into view, though she nearly missed the elegant white gold filigree against the snow. She shivered in her standard-issue military coat. She was made for warmer climates than this, she was sure. If it was ever again in her power to do so, she would set sail for the southern continents the moment the leaves began to change.

With that thought to warm her, Ezra managed not to spur her horse to a gallop to reach shelter faster then the pace they currently plodded at.

Inside the palace walls, the company broke apart. The nobles drove around a wide circular drive the center of which was broken into six wedge-shaped plots of land. In the summer Ezra thought there might be flowers or very well manicured grass that no one was allowed to walk on in those plots, but now it was hidden under the white drifts. At the hub of the wheel was a large statue of a young woman, one hand raised toward the sky, her features muted by the snow.

Once the nobles were released from their conveyances to shuffle into the bright doorway where warmth awaited them, the carriages themselves were taken either to the right or the left into one of the two large carriage houses. Luckily, Ezra did not see much of this long process. The military guard was almost immediately sent off through a side gate to the Armed Wing, as Ezra later discovered it was called. The four-story square was located near the front wall. The center was open in a wide courtyard which made getting from one place to another easier on the ground floor, but quite a trek on the upper stories. Also, since the only protection against the bitter air circulating in the courtyard were the wooden doors that secured each individual room, it was nearly as cold inside as out, despite the braziers in every cell.

The glorified barracks were already half full with the private and military guards of visiting nobles from three other nations. Ezra wondered if everyone would be able to fit inside by the time the rest of the delegates arrived with their entourages.

Ezra settled into to the room she shared with five other women. Besides herself and two others, the women she shared the room with wore the cerulean and silver colors of Colend. One was sleeping, so the Remalnans were quiet as they entered and tried to maneuver in what little space there was. The room was small enough that she could walk from the door to the outer wall in three long paces. There was enough space between the three-tiered bunk beds for two people to stand, but they would quite literally be back-to-back.

She glanced over at the two other Remalnans in the room. These were not the living conditions she would have chosen with matters the way they were. Ezra's two bunkmates continued their silent hostility toward her even now. She was given the middle bunk so that she would be squeezed from above and kicked from below. It was just close enough to the ground that she wouldn't need to use the ladder to get down, but there was the chance of a sprained ankle if she was not careful how she landed.

_Or if someone puts something on the ground to stab my foot or make it slip_, she thought.

Until the issue with Keriam, these two women had been civil to Ezra. They shared a barrack and hung their wash next to each others'. They had helped her with her sword work when she was frustrated. She had taught them how to use a bow. She knew them by name and had even shared some of her history with them, listening while they spoke of their families and friends at home. Ezra wondered, had they not turned so thoroughly against her, if she would have mourned the loss of their friendship. As it was, their petty back-biting and childish pranks were too aggravating to let her miss them too much. What she wanted most to do was get them back.

_Mustn't make a scene, Ezra,_ she repeated Sgt. Major Tedescun's words to herself as she unpacked her uniforms and put them in the cubby at the foot of her bunk. _Keep your head down. Don't retaliate when the jealous ones provoke you. Your're an officer of Remalna now. You have a standard to uphold….Not that they're upholding that standard._

One of the foreign women scooted to the edge of her mattress to assess the new arrivals. She was tall, broad all over—her shoulders, her waist, her face. She looked like a walking wall with a long blonde braid down her back and sunbonnet-blue eyes.

"Remalna?" she asked. The word rolled on her tongue oddly, and she accented the wrong syllable: Re-mal-_na_ rather than Re-_mal_-na.

"_Ett_," Ezra answered, her voice echoing the roll and dip of the other woman's voice with the ease of long practice. "_Deman Essra_," she pointed to herself then to her two bunkmates, "_Sorlee, ai Tanna. Jennean militat tu'Remalna; toattam aev d'Renne ai lia'ducompt_."

Sorlee scowled at her. "I didn't know you could speak Colendrian."

Ezra shrugged and turned back to rolling her travel pack into a ball to use as a pillow. "I can speak seven different languages. Eight if you count the dialect of Rom they speak across the ocean. And I can say, 'Drop your weapons and hand over all your valuables' in another ten."

"I'm sure that's come in awfully handy," Tanna snipped in her high, child-like voice.

"You…" the blonde Colendrain interjected wagging her finger between Ezra and the other women. "Not friends?"

Tanna raised her brown eyebrows. "You speak Remalnan?"

The blonde shrugged. "_Le tue_."

"A bit," Ezra translated. She turned to the Colendrian soldier and told her no, they were not friends.

"Ah, a feud," the woman said in her native tongue.

"You could say that," Ezra agreed in Colendrian. "I stole one of the most eligible officers from the other female recruits. Apparently he was supposed to be common property."

The woman laughed and jumped down from her bunk—also the middle bed—and went to shake hands with Ezra.

"I'm Jolene," she introduced herself. "The one sleeping is Marinette, and the other is Adalaide. You won't hear much from her. She's mute. Oh, she can hear just fine, but she can't speak."

Ezra looked up to see Adalaide watching the exchange from her perch in the top bunk. Her green eyes were set too wide apart, but otherwise she was lovely. Her auburn hair was cut short around her face and lay straight against her high cheekbones. Her mouth was lush, and when she smiled she revealed small white teeth.

"Black-spot fever?" Ezra asked her.

The fever had gone through the north-eastern part of Colend years ago. Like most illnesses, it struck children and the elderly the hardest. The epidemic took most of those it infected within two weeks. First the victim would break out in a harmless looking rash which would soon turn nearly black with contaminated blood and pus. Then a high fever would overtake the victim, and death soon followed. Those that survived usually had some kind of deformity or affliction depending on where the rash spread to. Some went blind, others mute, and some never lost the swelling in their face or hands or abdomen.

When Fyn had learned about the sickness, he made sure to avoid Colend for a few years to let all the fever strains die out. Ezra was twelve at the time. Adalaide did not look any older than she was, so it followed that Adalaide had likely been one of the lucky few who caught black-spot fever and survived. She confirmed Ezra's suspicions with a nod, opened her mouth, and pointed down her throat. The rash must have spread there and taken her voice with it.

Ezra spent the next hour chatting with Jolene and Adelaide—one in Colendrian, the other throwing in hand gestures that Jolene translated for Ezra. The sun had begun to dip near the horizon when a knock sounded at the door. Ezra realized that she had heard knocking outside along the corridor for some time now.

Tanna, being on the bottom bunk, rose to answer. She pulled open the door to reveal Major Pepinot, his bald head nearly brushing the crown of the doorframe.

Ezra and Sorlee jumped down to join Tanna at attention.

"Ladies," the Major greeted them.

"Sir," they responded in unison.

"There's to be some kind of casual get-together in one of the larger ballrooms. All the officers are invited this time," he said, looking directly at Ezra. She fought not to let her annoyance show, though she felt the corners of her eyes tighten.

"Don't worry about how to act around the nobility," Major Pepinot continued. "I'm sure Captain Fyn can give you a few pointers."

The three women stayed rigid as he stared Ezra down. She would not let him get a rise out of her. It was more than Sgt. Major Tedescun's words to keep her temper. If Ezra let every comment aimed her way set her off, she would never make it through the summit. She would never make it as a captain, who would routinely have to deal with men and women who would test her patience and question her capabilities. Self-restraint wasn't her best suit, but she was determined to hold her tongue or cut it out.

Major Pepinot finally saluted. The women returned it, and he left them in peace once more.

Tanna closed the door and turned to scowl at Ezra. Sorlee bumped her shoulder as she moved back to the side ladder. Still Ezra kept her temper. It took her pressing her tongue up into the roof of her mouth and forcing her hands flat against her thighs to keep from fisting them. A fist would be far too much temptation at this point.

As soon as the other two were settled, Ezra congratulated herself on not pounding either one. But she wondered how she was to ever make it through weeks of this.

She turned to see Adalaide grinning and Jolene's raised eyebrows, and Ezra thought maybe it wouldn't be too bad. She could always get the three Colendrains on her side. Then she would have Tanna and Sorlee outnumbered. Ezra grinned back, liking those odds.

* * *

**Colendrian Translations**—None in this chapter are particularly important to know, and you can probably figure out the gist of it, but I thought you might like to know exactly what (I think) they're saying.

_-Ett—_Yes

_-Deman Essra, Sorlee, ai Tanna. Jennean militat tu'Remalna; toattam aev d'Renne ai lia'ducompt_.—We're called Essra (the hard "z" sound doesn't exist in this language, so Ezra softened it to an "s" sound), Sorlee, and Tanna. We're part of the Remalnan military; we arrived today with the Prince and his company.

_-Le tue_—a bit

* * *

**A/N: We know this is late but since when have we been on time with our updates since we both started working? Rest assured, Chapter 17 is done (Kudos to EG) and is undergoing its final edits. We'll get it posted soon with Chap 18 on the way!**


	17. Reunion

Gypsy Queen

Chapter 17: Reunion

Alec dismounted and handed the horse off to one of the grooms. He caught a glance of the armed guard being led to the Eidervaen Armed Wing over his shoulder. From this distance, in the storm, he could not pick Ezra out from the others. But he felt the distance between them—a distance he had pointedly maintained during the journey—widen as their parties separated. He pulled in a deep breath of the biting cold, hating the increasing ache in his chest even more then he hated the distance between himself and Ezra. He turned away and led the first arrivals to the palace inside, out of the snow.

Queen Yustnesveas stood at the head of a tall staircase with her Prince-consort, Rel. Both were very grand in their presentation, dressed for warmth in sumptuous velvet tunics over thick brocades—hers embroidered with green fern leaves on a blue background, his with red hunting dogs on a brown field. However, as Sartor was now free of its curse, age was beginning to make its mark on all things, including the royal pair. Yustnesveas was just as pie-faced as ever, but she was gaining weight as she aged, and there was grey in her long brown hair. Rel stood soldier-straight, feet spread, hands clasped behind his back. His temples had long since gone white, and now the rest of his hair slowly followed in a march of iron gray and soot black.

"Welcome, all of you," Yustnesveas greeted them.

Kaelen stood a few steps below his parents. Upon seeing Alec, Flauvic, and Tara enter, he bounded down to greet them for all the world like a happy puppy. His blue eyes glittered to brighten his wide grin.

"Alec! You made it here in good time, I see. I'm glad. Too bad about the weather though. Doesn't really show the city off to its best advantage."

"The snow was a bit of an annoyance," Alec admitted as a bevy of servants swarmed around him and his family to take their outer gear.

"If we had not had a guide," Flauvic drawled, handing his hat to a maid, "I'm not sure we would have made through the city. Or worse, come out on the other side without even knowing it."

The Landis's shared in the joke at one of the many quirks of their home, Kaelen's laugh being the loudest of all. But when he looked to the door to see who had come in the next wave of guests, his humor flickered for a moment. Then his smile, softer now, widened again.

"Lady Ranisia," he said.

Alec turned to look at his newly arrived cousin. Kitty flushed rose pink to match her traveling gown. If Alec was not mistaken, her eyes sparkled to match the Sartoran Prince's as Kaelen walked forward to greet her.

"Your Highness," Kitty returned. "I'm so glad to have been included in the invitation to visit this beautiful country. I have not left home often these last few years."

"Then we are doubly happy to have given you an excuse to travel," Queen Yustnesveas said, moving downward from the stairs to greet the future Countess of Tlanth, a discreet, knowing smile pulling at her lips.

Kaelen did not take his gaze from Kitty. "I'm sure I speak for my whole family when I say that you are more than welcome here. I am so glad you came."

To which Kitty responded with a deeper blush.

Kaelen wanted to say something more, but the soft sound of a throat being cleared stopped him. The group lollygagging in the foyer turned back to the hitherto unnoticed fourth person on the stair. Kaelen's younger sister Meridanaria leaned against the railing and smirked down at her older brother.

"Kae, don't be a goose. At least let her get in out of the cold before you start flirting with her."

It was Kaelen's turn to blush, and Alec tried to keep his amusement hidden. Apparently he did not do a good job of it, for Kaelen lifted his brows and grinned again.

"I wouldn't look so smug, Your Highness." Yustnesveas told him. "My son is not the only one beleaguered with little sisters."

She pointed off to the left and Alec was suddenly aware of familiar giggling. He turned to look just as Oria ran forward from the foot of the staircase as if she had been there all along. Her scandalously short white-blonde hair waved behind her like a pennant flag.

"Oria Rensalaeus!" he exclaimed, ending in a soft "oof!" when his baby sister jumped into his arms.

Oria beamed up at him. "Did you like my trick, Alec?"

"You mean, am I pleased that you can now go skulking around invisible where you have no business being?"

"Not invisible," she insisted. "If you had been looking for me, you would have seen me. But it does mean that I can go skulking about unnoticed where I am not expected to be. I believe our brother-in-law knows something of this?"

She raised a pale brow at Flauvic, grinning.

The Marquis nodded.

"It's quite useful, if I recall," he attested with a note of pining in his voice.

"Wonderful," Alec muttered. He turned back to his sister and looked her over. "And what of your hair? What have you done to it?"

Oria stepped back and shook her head to send her locks—which now barely brushed the bottom of her shoulder blades and interspersed with tiny braids tipped with colorful beads—flying about her face and shoulders, beads clinking.

"I modeled it after Ezranya Fyn's hair. What do you think?"

His chest contracted at her name, but he was proud that no sign of pain or difference showed on his face.

"I think perhaps Ezra Fyn has had far too much influence on our family," he said.

Alec wanted to cringe at Oria's look of shock and hurt, but he resolutely did not. It was a fact. Ezra had wormed her way into the circle of his friends and family, into his life, into his thoughts, and it was maddening. It was painful. It was…

…entirely not her fault.

His parents had blackmailed her into the first expedition against the Brotherhood of the Damned. His sister and brother-in-law had duped her into accepting a post as captain. Elestra had been the one to repeatedly include Ezra in their family gatherings and balls and dinners. And Oria, apparently, had decided that Ezranya Fyn was her personal role model all on her own accord. Alec had simply not fought it. And now he was in deep water and sinking fast.

Oria raised her chin in the last traces of adolescent defiance, shook her hair again, and said, "Well, I don't care what you think. I quite like it. I've gotten several compliments at Dyranyra and here at Erev-li-Erval. So there."

She stuck her tongue out.

"Come now," Kaelen said, "Lets be done with it. Oria, I think your hair is lovely. And as for Captain Fyn—"

"Oh!" Oria squealed. "She made captain? Officially?"

"She did," Alec said.

"As for Captain Fyn," Kaelen continued with a smile, "I think she has been a truly…unique influence on Remalna. Now, I will show you to your rooms and leave my own pesky sister and my parents to greet the remaining guests." He bowed to his mother. "By your leave?"

"Of course," she said. "I do hope that all of you are satisfied with your rooms. I've had firesticks set in braziers all day to warm the rooms for your arrival so they should be comfortable. Please feel free to tell any of the servants if you need anything at all. Lady Tara, your brother asked me to inform you upon your arrival that he would attend to you this evening. He currently has other matters to attend to."

_Meaning,_ Alec thought, _that Nadav is busy with his contacts, checking up on the other guests at the Summit._

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Tara said as she curtsied.

Kaelen held his arm out to Kitty and Meridanaria grinned at her parents. Flauvic escorted Tara, and Alec led his sister up the stairs, listening to her chatter about all that she'd learned at the Academy.

As Alec passed Prince-consort Rel, the older man put a hand on his shoulder. Alec met the weight of intelligence in those dark blue eyes and felt his years of training at Marlovan Hess straighten his spine to stand at full attention to a superior officer.

"I trust you'll have something interesting for us," Rel said.

"I do hope so, sir," Alec replied.

Rel nodded and dropped his hand. He once more turned to watch the stream of guests enter his palace. Alec nodded once and followed Kaelen down the long corridor to the east wing.

"If it makes you feel any better, you're not quite the last to arrive," Kaelen told them. "We're still waiting on the Catalians. Them coming from so far, you know. It may take them a while to get here. We're expecting them sometime today, tonight, or early tomorrow. With the snow, my father has suggested sending out scouts for them. Cataline is not exactly known for its harsh winters, you know!"

"No," Tara agreed with a smirk, "Cataline is known more for its shipping industry and delicious dates and mangoes than for snow."

"The delegates from Colend arrived last evening," Oria said. "You should see the clothes some of the women wore! One of them—Contessa…oh, something-or-other, I forget. The one who came to my Flower Day with my friend Katallia from Dyranyra. They're related somehow, but I don't remember how. Prince Kaelen, do you remember her name?"

"Contessa tu'Gatte," Kaelen provided with a laugh. "She can certainly talk, but I like that about her. She's very friendly. No one can be unhappy around her for long."

"Ah, yes," Flauvic said, his brows lowering. "I remember her. I found her particularly annoying."

Tara hit him on the arm as they walked. "I remember her, and I liked her. So do be polite, Flauvic."

"Anyway," Oria continued, "she had the most beautiful green dress on. It has festoons of pink silk roses on the skirt and the sleeves and a line of pink silk bows down the bodice. It was magnificent, but I believe there was some magic involved in keeping the skirt so full, only because she had no trouble walking in it. Surely petticoats would cause some trouble, don't you think?"

"I think that Contessa tu'Gatte is not the only one who can talk," Alec said.

Oria made a face and pinched his arm while the rest of the party laughed.

As they approached the rooms that were given to the Renselaeus's, which Oria had moved into when she arrived several weeks ago, Alec saw that someone was waiting outside the tapestry. Keraim stood at attention when he saw them coming closer. Alec braced himself. Despite their discussion several days earlier, Alec felt the strain on their friendship. He had barely seen his friend except for formal briefings on the state of supplies and road conditions. In these surroundings, it appeared that Keriam was erring on the side of formality.

Once close enough, Alec nodded his permission for Keriam to speak.

"I came to report that all of the guards are settled into their bunks. Our Gypsy informant, Djilia, is staying in the barracks with them."

"Thank you, Thanyl."

Keriam saluted and took a step to leave.

"Thanyl!" Alec called after him.

"Yes?"

Alec was unsure of what to say. He hadn't told his friend that he had kissed Ezra. Alec assumed that Ezra hadn't mentioned it, either, since Keriam had not called him out about it. Still, the distance between the two hurt after the long years of friendship. He felt there must be something he could say to alleviate the tension.

"I believe the Landis's are hosting a salon tonight for the delegates to mingle and get acquainted. Since you're one of our delegates, having been with me and Captain Fyn on the Valiant expedition, you are invited to come, of course."

"Absolutely," Kaelen said. "You should come. In fact, I'll see to it that all of the officers of the visiting delegates are invited. We'll make a night of it. I'm sure my parents won't mind. Neither of them is terribly formal. And, as one fighting man to another, I'm sure my father will want to meet you."

Keriam looked between the two princes for a moment before his smile could be seen beneath his thick mustache. "Thank you, Your Highness. I would be honored to attend this evening. I will pass the word amongst the officers. We will be sure to attend you."

* * *

The large ballroom was crowded with delegates from all of the allied countries. The Sartorans were stately in dark blues, greens, and burgundy. The men and women of Sles Adran wore robes heavily embroidered in metallic thread over shimmering silk and satin. The Denleiffi delegates were dressed in layered rusts, burnt orange, sage green, and dusky blues—all very dusty colors. They complimented the earth-tones of the Remalnans. The Colendrians' outfits took up the most room. The women's gowns were floating clouds of pastels and jewel tones embroidered and bedecked with startling color contrasts.

Tara leaned forward to whisper to Kitty, loud enough for the whole group to hear, of course, "Only someone from Colend would think to put peach ruffled shells on a teal gown. And as for the volume of skirt—how many people do you suppose she's hiding under there?"

"If I were to wear such a thing, I'd be afraid a sudden gust of wind would come along and topple me over," one of the Denlieffi women who had immediately congregated to where Princes Kaelen-dei and Alaraec stood. Two such prime bachelors were hard for anyone to pass up.

Kaelen and Alec, however, were bored with the self-centered gossip most of the women engaged in. Kaelen was too kind-hearted to speak ill of anyone, and Alec was simply uninterested. His mind wandered as his eyes roamed over the guests. Oria was off to one side of the room at the center of a lively conversation with many of her fellow mages. Flauvic was a part of Tara's group, but it took a keen ear to hear the double-edged comments he made. He insulted the pettiness of the women gossiping as much as those they gossiped about. Nadav had returned from his talks with his spies and was busy entertaining a group of lovely Adrani debutantes.

Inevitably, his eyes found Ezra across the room. She stood ridged by the wall near the entrance and tried to hide her unease at being in the same room with this many nobles and royalty. Alec suppressed a smile and fought not to shake his head when he finally realized the reason behind Ezra's continuous discomfort in a room full of unfamiliar people. The regularly ostentatious piratess was shy. She usually managed to overcome it quickly, but for the first few minutes of being thrown in with strangers, Ezra was defensive and stiff.

With only the briefest conscious thought to berate himself for giving in to her pull, Alec excused himself from his circle of friends and wandered closer to Ezra, stopping occasionally to speak with the other Summit-goers. He did not want to draw attention to the fact that he was going to rescue Ezra from herself. His friends and family already had the unfortunately correct opinion that he was in love with her. He did not want to broadcast the fact to near strangers.

However, halfway across the room, he was caught by Contessa Emilionelle tu'Gatte of Colend. She was nearly as tall as Alec and well known as a flirt although she never allowed those flirtations to evolve into imprudent dalliances. While her nose was a little too long and her mouth a little too wide for true beauty, Contessa tu'Gatte possessed an open, friendly manner that tended to win over even the most cynical of libertines. Tonight her mahogany curls were piled atop her head and woven into place by a long strand of diamonds and pearls. Her garnet gown bedecked with rubies and tiny red bows down the front was a few scant shades darker than scandalous red and made her pale skin seem like milk in the light of the glow globes. Her dark hazel eyes glittered with amusement and welcome when she saw Alec.

"Prince Alaraec!" she greeted him in her rolling accent. Alec found her voice to be rather like a violin—capable of mild tones and quick note changes at the same time. "I haven't seen you in absolutely an age. Your sister's birthday, I believe. The younger one. I was with _mé ammato_—my brother Phillipe's wife's cousin—the weather mage, you know—visiting Remalna-city. You probably do not even remember me and must think me terribly rude, if not downright mad!"

Alec grinned at the bubbly young woman. "Not at all, Contessa tu'Gatte. I remember you quite well. Not every woman manages to so thoroughly baffle my brother-in-law."

"Oh, Flauvic Merindar! Yes!" she laughed. "_Di prennaté._ For someone so pretty, I imagine it must be a shock to have absolutely no effect on someone. Of course, he's never met my brother Fredrique. Now there's a beautiful face. Quite a shame he and I could not switch a few of our features, eh? But we are given the face we have for a reason, I suppose."

"I'm sure," Alec said.

He watched as some of the humor slipped from her eyes, though her smile did not diminish in the slightest. A bit of the cunning that the tu'Gatte family was known for peeked out and let Alec know that this was not a woman to be underestimated. Having grown up with several such women in his family, he felt suitably prepared for anything she might throw at him.

"Now tell me truly, Your Highness. I've heard all these awful rumors about war brewing. Something about pirates acting on behalf of Norsunder. Are these stories true? It would be scandalously shocking if it were!"

"Please, Contessa," he countered, "I would hate to insight a panic on a night meant for festivities. My friends and I will bring our suspicions to the summit at the first meeting later this week."

Lady Emilionelle's smile changes to be teasing rather than friendly. "Come now, Your Highness. I promise you I will not start a panic, but Gatte Harbor is a shipping haven in Colend. We have one of the most secure and—not to be arrogant, you understand?—most flourishing trade cities in the country. Yet these so-called pirates, as we are led to believe they are, have invaded my family's stretch of coast. They threaten our lives and, more importantly, our business." She laid a long-fingered hand on his forearm. "I assure you, if you tell me that if you tell me that it is Norsunder behind these attacks, I will believe you."

When Alec slowly raised his brows at Lady Emilionelle's speech, her eyes flashed with humor, and her smile widened just slightly. "tu'Gatte territory does not have problems with real pirates, you see?"

The tu'Gatte family was also known for breeding excellent politicians, Alec recalled. Lady Emilionelle had a brother, a cousin, and an uncle in the Colendrian parliament. They could twist their words around and around themselves the way a snake can twine and writhe so that one never knew where the fangs were hidden, and the speaker always came away looking innocent. Lady Emilionelle's statement could mean that the Gatte defenses were strong enough to keep out the majority of the pirates. Or it could be a veiled verification of the rumors that the tu'Gatte family actually traded with pirates who, then, would have no reason to attack that stretch of coast. Not even the best of Remalna's spies had ever been able to uncover irrefutable proof.

"Contessa, perhaps I am not the best person to answer your question," Alec demurred. "I am operating under the guidance of those with many more years experience with such matters than I have. We also have several pirate experts in our company."

The Contessa lifted her hand from his arm to wave his words away like flies. Her laugh was a fanciful scale of jittering notes. "Pirate expert! I would like to meet these 'experts' of yours."

"I would be honored and delighted to introduce you, Lady Emilionelle," Alec said. In the first place, it would give him an excuse to continue on his path to Ezra's side. In the second, he could not wait to introduce the seemingly flighty, back-winding Colendrian Contessa to the blunt Captain Fyn. He had to suppress a grin of anticipation.

By now, Thanyl had joined Ezra at her self-appointed post by the door. While she was clearly not comfortable enough to join the rest of the company in the hall, Ezra's lover had managed to coax a smile to her face and loosened some of the stiffness from her stance. Alec felt the muscles in his jaw and shoulders start to tighten and forced himself to relax. His years at Marlovan Hess, taking orders even when he did not wish to, sometimes from people he could not stand, helped him control his reaction to the sight of Thanyl standing so close to Ezra, leaning his face down toward her.

The two courtiers stopped a polite distance from the flirting couple.

"Thanyl," Alec interrupted his friend just as he was about to say something to Ezra. "Captain Fyn."

Thanyl immediately stood at attention, his stance straightening and the wineglass in his right hand held at his hip as if his hand rested on the hilt of a dagger. With a slowness that conveyed her grudging acceptance of Alec's authority, Ezra straightened as well. She, however, did not move her glass of wine to the side.

"I would like to introduce the both of you t—"

"Ranni?" Emelionelle exclaimed.

Alec looked at the Contessa with raised brows. She was staring at Ezra, mouth open, eyes wide. He flashed his gaze back to Ezra in time to watch her eyes widen as well. She swept her eyes over the woman at his side. He mouth opened and closed a few times before she stuttered, "L-lolo?"

_Ranni? Lolo?_

Before Alec had time to more than exchange a bewildered glance with Thanyl, Lady Emilionelle released his arm with a shriek and ran the three paces to embrace Ezra. The Captain barely had time to thrust her wineglass at Thanyl, staining his waistcoat in the process, before she was swept up by the Contessa. To the surprise of both men, Ezra was laughing and hugging Lady Emilionelle back. When Emilionelle started jumping up and down, Ezra jumped, too—only partially because she had no choice.

When finally the two pulled back to arms length, they were still grinning. Alec thought he'd never seen Ezra so excited. She was almost trembling with joy. Her eyes were emeralds in the sun.

"Lolo! Life! What are you doing he—no, wait, I know what you're doing here," Ezra said, shaking her head. "You're representing your family's interests."

"And Colend's southern coast," Emilionelle added. "The Queen is very interested in these attacks of the past two years. More so when my father told her that we did not know those who came into our waters."

"Since most of her income from that portion of the country comes from the tu'Gatte family either directly or indirectly," Ezra finished with a smirk.

"_Qevá_," the Countess answered with a matching, vaguely shark-like smile. Then her smile widened again. "But what are you doing here? Don't tell me you are Remalna's 'pirate expert'?"

Ezra winced. "Guilty, I'm afraid."

"That must be an interesting story?" Emilionelle prodded.

Ezra sighed and shrugged. "The short version is something like this: battle, capture, trial, blackmail, spying, another battle, vineyard, more blackmail, military training, and nearly a month of travel in winter—which, I have to say, may be my least favorite part of the whole ordeal."

"Ohhhh!" Lolo wailed in sympathy. She leaned forward again to enfold Ezra. "My poor, dear _tavitte_. Have they clipped your wings entirely?"

_Tavitte_, Alec knew, was Colendrian for "seagull." He remembered that Caelron had teased Ezra about the seagull tattoo across her shoulders when they were first on Tourmaline Island. He had assumed, from what Caelron had said, that Willem had nicknamed her "seagull." Now Alec wondered if the name had come before Will.

"Not at all," he took the opportunity to interject. "Captain Fyn is now one of ours. And clearly my introductions were unnecessary, Contessa. Am I to understand that you and the Captain have met before?"

He phrased it as a question hoping that one of the women would see fit to enlighten him.

Lady Emilionelle did not disappoint.

"Oh, yes. Ranni and I met a very long time ago. Her grandfather and my father are business associates." She winked one long-lashed eye at Alec, her shark smile back in place. "As it turns out, we were both the only girls surrounded by many male relatives."

"Whenever Grandpa was in Gatte Harbor, he and Count tu'Gatte would conduct business, the men would go spend their earnings in town, and, when I was younger, I would go with Grandpa to the big house," Ezra continued. "It was nice getting to play with another girl for a while. Like Lolo said, we were both surrounded by men and boys all day. They weren't much for dolls and dress-up."

Alec was very careful not to let his face betray him at the thought of Ezra (at any age) playing with dolls or dressing up. He remembered his sisters being very young and getting into their mother's clothing and shoes. A sudden image of a very small Ezra being swallowed by the ruffled and laced concoctions in fashion in Colend a dozen years ago forced Alec to cough politely into his hand.

"Not that the playing ended up well every time!" Emilionelle teased Ezra. "Remember when you tried to wear my shoes, and you fell and twisted your ankle?"

Ezra giggled, and again, Alec had to focus on concealing his surprise. The Ezra Fyn he knew did not giggle. Who was this woman?

"My ankle?" Ezra asked. "You broke out in hives that day we switched clothes!"

Thanyl and Alec passed another glance to share their mystification as Ezra and Emilionelle laughed at their reminiscence.

Emilionelle, her face suddenly serious, turned to put herself at Ezra's side and wrapped an arm around the shorter woman's shoulders. "Ranni, _amua_, you must tell me the truth since your Prince here will not. The pirate attacks these last few years?"

Thanyl cleared his throat and shook his head. It was a sign Ezra clearly missed or simply chose to ignore.

"Not pirates," she confirmed with a shake of her head. "Or, actually, they are pirates, but they're under Norsunder's command, not acting on their own."

Emilionelle pursed her lips. "I did not think so. Nor did my father." She turned to Alec then. "You have the support of the tu'Gatte family, as well as Queen Leitzette when she hears about this."

"I am pleased to hear that the tu'Gatte's and Her Majesty are to be counted among Remalna's allies," Alec answered. He did not add that he would have preferred to have Lady tu'Gatte announce this amongst their peers in the assembly at the end of the week. This way he was afraid that it would seem to some that he was making deals in secret. It may be the way some worked, but his parents had always taught him that the best way to win allies was to approach everyone equally. Secrets were often the best way to turn friends into enemies. Alec sincerely hoped that his declaration of friendship would not turn others away from their cause.

With her curiosity now satisfied, Lolo stepped back to look Ezra up and down. The euphoria of reunion had dimmed, and she saw her friend more clearly now. Her perusal forced Alec to take a second look as well. Lolo took in the stiff, unadorned wool military jacket with an expression of distaste. Alec had to admit that its only saving grace was that it was green edged with gold braid—badly dyed gold, he noted—at the cuffs and which brought out the startling color of Ezra's eyes. The shirt beneath was white, starched until nearly unwearable and a size too large. The sleeves bulged the jacket arms, and a white roll peeked out from beneath the green cuff. The straight-leg trousers were also too large.

"_Tavitte_! _Na jie qatsa mal_! What have they put you in?"

Ezra grimaced. "It's the standard uniform," she muttered.

"And did they have no one who was your size, at least, if they were to give you second-hand clothing?" Lolo demanded, her hands and fan flying in outrage. "Surely they must make you your own dress uniform, if nothing else!"

"I think it's punishment," Ezra said.

"For what?"

"Take your pick. Either I was ushered into my post by the King without any real training or experience," Ezra ticked off the first reason on her finger; "I slept my way into my captaincy; or maybe it's because I stole Thanyl from one or all of the other single women in the company."

Lolo's head was thrown back as she laughed. Alec raised his eyebrows and glanced over at his friend. Thanyl's cheeks pinked and he lifted a hand to scratch his forehead with a thumb.

"You didn't!" Lolo pealed. "Vixen! You cause jealousy wherever you go—first Tourmaline, now Remalna."

Ezra humphed. "I don't see why."

Lolo swooped down and pressed a warm, laughing kiss on her cheek. "I know you don't, and I love you all the more for it."

Alec had to agree.

Then Lolo frowned and shook her head.

"But we really must do something about this outfit." She once again wrapped her arm through Ezra's. "Come—come with me. We'll go to one of the ladies' sitting rooms and fix this _renouvier_ while you tell me all about what has been happening to you."

"Just like old times," Ezra grinned as Lolo led her away. "Pretties for stories."

Alec and Keriam watched the two women leave, both men still slightly baffled.

"Well," Alec mused, "that was…certainly unexpected. I don't think I knew Ezra was capable of giggling."

Alec smiled and looked to his friend to share in the joke. He was surprised to see Keriam frowning.

"We've just been informed that the rumors of how the tu'Gatte family makes its fortune are true, they fence stolen goods for pirates, and you're focused on Ezra's giggling?"

Alec stared at him.

"Alec," Thanyl demanded, "what are we going to do about this?"

"What can we do?" Alec asked, lowering his voice. "The tu'Gatte's are not my subjects, and Queen Leitzette, by all indications, condones it. If Ezra was correct, the Queen makes a good deal of revenue off the tu'Gatte enterprises. Why would she want to stop them? Do you think she will listen to my demands that she stop the family's trade?"

"You could ban trade with Colend until she stops them," Keriam suggested.

"And what of every other country that trades with Colend? I hardly think Remalna not trading with them will make that much a difference."

"We can convince them to follow our lead. If Queen Leitzette sees that her stolen gains are hindering legitimate economy, she will punish the tu'Gattes and put in stricter anti-pirate laws."

"They may agree with us, some of them, but convincing all of Colend's allies to stop trading with them would take years, and likely longer still until the Queen would amend her laws. And at the moment, we have a larger agenda."

"It's still wrong, Alec," Thanyl insisted. "Piracy is what you went to sea to fight in the first place. Your grandfather, stars rest him, did the same. Are you going to let that legacy fall aside? Are you going to allow that kind of evil to survive? To prosper? On account of what your fellow nobility gain from?"

"Of course not. Don't misunderstand me, I agree with you completely. Piracy is wrong. I have not changed my beliefs on that account. Pirates are thieves, and most have little regard for the sanctity of life. They endanger not only the economy, but the lives of the men and women who go to sea to do business or simply travel. I wonder, though, if you are forgetting that _Ezra_ was once a pirate, and if you are including her in such 'evil'."

"_Was_, Alec, Ezra _was_ a pirate," Thanyl stressed. "And only because her grandfather was one. If she had had a choice or opportunity for better, she would never have become one. And she is one of us, now."

"I think Ezra will always be her own person. Her loyalty will always be first and foremost with those she chooses to give it to. And no nationality, title, or rank will help anyone earn that loyalty. If you truly believe that she has given up her loyalty to the Barons of Tourmaline, or to Caelron Nahauque, or any of the others who sail under a red or black flag that she calls her friends, you are very wrong."

Alec said the last to hurt Keraim, but he knew it was true. "It was Caelron who was Nadav's informant, was it not? Her friend? And if he called Ezra for aid, do you think she would hesitate to go help him? I don't. No more than if Elestra called for help, or Djilia, or Contessa tu'Gatte. Ezra is not 'one of us'. She is herself."

Keriam's jaw twitched all through Alec's speech. He nodded at the end and handed his and Ezra's long-forgotten wineglasses to a passing servant. When he turned back to Alec, his eyes were colder than the Prince had ever seen them.

"Alec, do try not to fall too much in love with Ezra. You're truly not suited to each other."

He stalked away, leaving Alec, for the first time, wishing that he had bloodied his friend's mouth. He hid a sneer behind his glass. He certainly was tending towards violence lately.

* * *

Lolo knelt before Ezra with several straight pins between her lips as the shorter woman stood on an ottoman in the sitting room. The hem of Ezra's left trouser leg was now several finger width's shorter. It now hit the top of her dress boot at the appropriate spot. The right leg was slowly following in line as the Contessa lifted and pin the material in place.

"Oh!" Lolo piped as she hemmed, "did I tell you? We're feuding with a family in Cataline!"

She said it as if she were a little girl throwing her first dress-up party, and Ezra could not help but grin. The Colend-Cataline prejudice was long standing, especially in the tu'Gatte family.

"Really?" she asked. "Anyone I know?"

"Doubtful. You're far too good to associate with Catalians." She flashed her eyes up to Ezra's in disapproval. "Except for that one. What ever happened to that stinking, unwashed dog your grandfather brought to our house?"

Ezra's grin widened until she laughed. "You mean Caelron? Last I saw of him, he was well. A captain in his own right for a long time now."

"Yes, we'd heard," Lolo muttered. "Father refused him admittance into the Harbor."

"Caelron prides himself on the fact that he's one of the youngest captains ever. Your father would have gotten a good take off his purchase."

"I don't care if he's the youngest ever Baron of Tourmaline," she sniffed. "A Catalian is a Catalian is a Catalian, and they are all useless, dirty, stupid pigs. I don't know how I am going to stand being in the same room with a group of them tomorrow."

She shuddered.

Ezra shook her head, but didn't comment. She knew there was no way to change her friend's mind. To be honest, Ezra thought the whole thing was funny. Caelron's opinion of Emilionelle tu'Gatte was equal to hers of him. Lolo was the only woman Ezra heard Caelron call a "shallow, vicious shrew," along with a few other choice names muttered in Catalian that Ezra had not been able to catch the meaning of.

So while Lolo hemmed, Ezra told her about everything that had happened in the nearly three years since the women saw each other last. Ezra told her about Fyn finally trusting her to plan her own raids, and the eventual capture of the _Fearless_. She told Lolo about the deal her grandfather had struck with the Rensalaeus's to track down the brotherhood, and her first, albeit unofficial, stint as a captain.

And she told her about Willem—his death, learning of his infidelity with Melisande, the horrible, shivering agony of missing him, the panic she felt when the memory of his exact eye color faded along with precisely how he smelled and the how his hand felt touching her…and finally the half sad, half resigned ache in her heart when she let him go.

"I stayed awake all that night, sitting up in that tree," Ezra told her. "It was almost summer, a few months before I got the summons to the palace, so I wasn't cold or anything. I just sat there. I watched the stars turn, and the sun come up. I was pretty useless all that day—too tired to work. But I slept better after that than I had since he died."

Lolo set aside the white blouse that she had divested Ezra of in order to shorten it. She stood from the chaise and wrapped her arms around Ezra, now covered only by her wool military coat, and bussed her shoulders as if to warm her up. Lolo pressed a kiss into her hair and sighed.

"This is why I refuse to fall in love," the Contessa said. "It's too much of a gamble. You never know how it will end up, if he will be faithful to you. And even if he is, life never lets you stay together long. I like my way much better—lots of men, lots of fun, very few expectations. I don't expect them to be faithful to me; they don't expect me to be faithful to them. Everybody's happy!"

Ezra snorted. "Well, now I've got Thanyl…more or less."

Lolo raised a dark brow as she sat back on the chaise and resumed her hemming. "More or less?"

Ezra grimaced. "It's not that we're not getting on well. I like him. I like to talk with him, but he only ever talks about his duty to Remalna, or the expeditions he's been on, or how my training is going. He doesn't seem to know how to have fun. And he won't kiss me in public—believe me, I've tried to coerce him. On the journey here I cuddled up to him one evening at the fire and he practically shoved me away from him. 'It's not appropriate out in the open like this,'" she quoted.

"Oh, poor _tavitte_. But the Prince seemed quite nice. I bet he would kiss you," Lolo teased.

Ezra looked away, her cheeks heating.

Lolo watched her friend turn a mottled shade of pink, and her grin grew. "No! You're joking! I was teasing before when I called you a vixen, but it turns out you really are."

"I am not," Ezra grumbled. "It wasn't even my fault the last time."

"Last time? There were more times?"

Ezra muttered something Lolo strained to hear. She caught something about punching and a handkerchief, and Ezra ended with a loud, "—not my fault!" which Lolo could only laugh at.

"Ranni, I think your life has been far more interesting than mine lately." She stood up, shaking out the newly darned shirt. "Here, try it now."

Ezra slipped off her jacket and pulled the shirt on over her head. She did the tie at the throat to close the loose front of the blouse and adjusted the stiff collar that wrapped around her neck. The sleeves were now several inches shorter, and a quick seam that ran from her elbow to her wrist tightened the previously billowing material. Ezra slid the coat on again, and now it fit much better.

"Amazing what a needle and thread can do," she mused.

"Yes, you look much better," Lolo agreed. "Come, let's find your Prince. I'll bet he will think so too."

"He's not my prince!" said Ezra, aiming a swat at Lolo only to have her parry it with her peacock-feather fan. "Don't start trouble," she warned as they walked to the door. "I've already got a bad enough time with Thanyl because I went to that ball Lady Avalnae held. I don't need more."

They reentered the ballroom in time to hear the commotion coming down the hall. The orchestra had ceased playing, and all the dancers had turned, along with everyone else, toward the great double doors at one side of the hall. A servant hurried into the room and over to Queen Yustnesveas and King Rel. After a deep bow, he announced loud enough for the entire room to hear, "Your Majesties, the delegates from Cataline have arrived."

All eyes turned to the doorway where a group of men and women stood, awaiting the Queen's signal to enter. All were dressed somberly in black, brown, dark grey, or, in the case of the most daring fop, dark burgundy. The hair of the men was cut to their cheekbones. The women's hair was pinned in up in looped braids and twists decorated with ribbons that matched their dark dresses. Compared to the bright colors of most of the other occupants of the room, the Catalians were an imposing blockade of darkness.

"Well," Lolo snipped, flicking open her peacock-feather fan and using it to hide her mouth. "Tomorrow's meeting should be quite interesting."

* * *

SARACIENNESE TRANSLATIONS:

_mé ammato_—my brother

_Di prennaté—_(roughly) So touchy.

_qevá_—of course

_amua_—dear

_Na jie qatsa mal —What is all this!_

_renouvier—mess, disorder_

* * *

NOTE FROM EG:

We've been working really hard on these past two chapters for literally months, as I'm sure those of you who have been waiting (patiently and impatiently) on tenterhooks can attest to. In this chapter, you've been introduced to a new character and a new language, and let me tell you, Lolo has caused quite an upset between Fel and me. She jumped into reality so quickly that she already has part of her own story planned out. Or rather, her own story in the process of being planned out. And in recognition of that, I'd just like to give a huge thanks to Mary for all her help mediating between us. Thank you so much!

A/N:

Where have all our reviewers gone? Granted we haven't updated in months but the previous chapter only garnered 2 reviews! We're not averse to begging for critique and ego-inflating niceties, you know? Please review!

Thanks to those of you who have put us on Author or Story Alert!


	18. Confessions

Gypsy Queen

Chapter 18: Confessions

A/N: Apologies for the hideously late update. Don't worry, we haven't abandoned this project though it may seem that way. Rest assured, more chapters will be forthcoming once we get our writing mojos back again =) As usual, your kind words of encouragement are always appreciated and any critique valued beyond measure.

Regards,

FS&EG

* * *

Alaraec glared at the morning light sneaking through the crack between the two long, heavy curtains hanging over the wide windows in his guest room. He let his eyes slide shut again, telling himself that he had a few more minutes, surely, before he needed to be dressed and presentable. But barely a minute passed, it seemed, before his valet again knocked on his door.

"I'm awake," he called back, grimacing. "Give me a moment."

Alec pulled himself up to sit on the side of the bed and scratched absently at his stubbled cheek then rubbed both hands over his face. He had struggled to find a comfortable spot on the bed all night. While he would have liked to blame it on a strange mattress, one of the things a military training did was to condition the body to catch what sleep it could, whenever and wherever it could. And while the bed itself was an antique that even his Aunt Tamara would have been hard pressed to date, the new feather mattress should have been the height of comfort.

No, it had been the memory of last night's ball that had kept him awake. Specifically, his last meeting with Ezra.

After her return with Contessa tu'Gatte, Ezra—her clothes now better fitting if still not truly flattering—had been bright and friendly, giddy and gay. It was almost the way Alec had seen her on the balcony at Lady Cordalyse's ball, but more so. With the addition of a good friend whom she had known all her life, Ezra was free to allow herself unfettered enjoyment of the evening.

Ezra had surprised him further as she was about to make her bow to the hosts and return to her quarters in the Armed Wing. She put her hand on Alec's arm and nodded to an empty corner of the room. Once there, she'd fidgeted, taking several deep breaths and making two false starts. Alec could not stop his heart from speeding up.

Finally, she looked him in the eyes and squared her shoulders.

"I'm done," she said.

_Done with what?_ He'd wondered. _With the summit, with her captaincy, with me?_

"Pardon me?" Alec had managed to ask with a steady voice.

"I'm done with hating you," Ezra said. "For taking the Fearless, for Will, for all of it. It's through. Let's leave the past in the past. Too much has happened, and I'm tired of trying to hate you all the time…. I just wanted you to know that."

It was not what he had expected, nor was it what he had secretly hoped for but it was gratifying. Alec did not realize that he carried the weight of her hatred with him still until relief lifted that load from his shoulders. "I'm glad to know. I swear to you, I never intended to hurt you."

She nodded, biting her lip. "I know. We were pirates. It was never personal for us when we attacked a ship; I'm sure it wasn't for you when you came for us."

"No," he agreed.

Ezra nodded again, and began to step away. Alec felt his heart constrict, afraid to let her leave but not knowing how to make her stay. Then she stepped back, hands on her hips, chin jutted out, and green eyes narrowed at him.

"Do you still hate me?"

Alec's eyebrows rose. "Ezra, I never hated you."

All that righteous indignation deflated out of her, her shoulders slumping. "Oh. Well, then…" she shrugged, smirking a bit, although Alec was sure it was more at herself than him. "I guess that makes you the better person, doesn't it?"

_No, it only makes me the bigger fool._

"Not at all. In the beginning, I did not know you well enough to hate or like you. And since then, I have found many things in you to admire."

_Not the least of which are your eyes, your smile, that sharp tongue…_

He knew he should have stopped there. But some demon took hold of him and more slipped out. "In fact, I've become rather jealous of Thanyl. A shame he managed to win your trust before I did."

Alec bowed quickly and made his escape, deciding Ezra could make of his words what she wanted without further help from him. He hoped that she had only taken friendship from it. If she suspected anything else, his slip may lead him to fall completely and tell her how he was beginning to feel.

It was the morning after, and he still winced to think about it.

With one last longing glance at his pillow, he stood up and went about readying himself for the day. He strapped on a couple of knives to each forearm and pulled on the shirt that had been laid out the night before by his valet. He ignored the splendid court tunic that accompanied it for the time being. Instead, he went to the saddle bags he had packed himself and found an old black tunic worn soft from washing and constant wear. It had the emblem of Marloven Hess military school just below his left collar bone, near his heart. Alec then pulled on blackweave boots supple from years of use—except for a strip along the outside of his right boot into which he slid a long dirk. The rest of his weapons (a long sword, several more knives, and a broadsword that was, at this point, more for show than for actual use) remained in his room. After braiding his hair back into a simple queue, he called his valet for his cloak.

Armed against the cold, he left the Guest wing of the palace and journeyed to the Armed Wing, where the soldiers and guards of the delegates were housed. He followed the sound of voices raised in conversation, shouted orders during training drills, and boasting until he found an indoor practice arena. A fencing strip ran parallel to the right wall. On the left was an archery stand. All around and in between the two were men and women, all built thick with muscles honed for battle. Alec entered and went toward the swordsmen and women. He hoped to work out his frustrations by "skewering" someone on the practice court.

_Thanyl would be the perfect candidate,_ he thought sourly. His assumptions from the night before still rang loud in Alec's head, but he hoped the clash of practice foils would help drown the words out.

"_Alec, do try not to fall too much in love with Ezra. You're truly not suited to each other."_

Fortunately for the Commander, Thanyl was absent from the practice courts.

"Too bad," muttered Alec under his breath as he scanned the area for a familiar face.

Clumps of military personnel in uniform were chatting as their comrades dueled, threw knives, and drew bows. Unlike their courtier counterparts, the soldiers were mixing freely with one another regardless of the colour of their uniform. It was almost as if political divisions were left outside the door as the men and women here forgot their differences and the petty disputes of their rulers. They were happy to enjoy the competition of athletics and one-upmanship.

Well…mostly. The Catalian soldiers were on the direct opposite side of the room from the Colendrian soldiers, and both kept a watchful eye on the other.

He went for the practice foils and began testing one of the practice blades for balance when he spotted a dark head in the midst of the many yellow-haired men and women from the Marloven contingent standing along the archery gallery.

"Nadav!" he called out, grinning broadly when his cousin's blue eyes met his. Despite the dark smudges under his eyes, Alec could tell that the future Duke of Savona was enjoying the attention he was receiving from two lovely, rather buxom blondes, and the man towering over all three of them.

Nadav raised his hand and beckoned Alec over just as the two women were hailed by a mutual friend. They bade their farewells to the two men they were with and departed.

"Seducing the women this early in the morning?" Alec teased as he jogged towards the two men, watching his cousin turn pink beneath his slight pallor, "You should at least give us other fellows a chance!"

"Well, so much for my efforts. You scared them away with that ugly mug of yours!" retorted the future Duke of Savona.

Alec faked a look of affront at his cousin's ribbing, eliciting a laugh from the large man still in his company. Upon reaching the other side of the room, Alec clapped his cousin on the shoulder and peered into his face. Faint lines of strain creased his brow. "You look exhausted! When was the last time you slept?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine." Nadav shooed him off. "I couldn't pass up the opportunity to reminisce with the old gang from the Academy. You remember Eryk Holden?" He gestured to the monolith at his side.

Alec looked at the man for a full minute before recognition dawned. When they were younger, Eryk's hair had been lighter, not the honeyed brown it was now, and he had been a good hand-span shorter. Alec reached out a hand to clasp his former classmates' with a smile.

"He married Nadia," Nadav continued, "and they've got little Eryk's and Nadia's running all over the place!"

Alec caught a flicker of concern on Nadav's face as a ripple of chuckles went round the group, but Alec smiled at his cousin to show his ease with the subject of the beautiful Nadia. Alec had once been in love with her, when they were both cadets at the academy. She was quick and witty and most of the young men had harbored fear of her fighting skills and impure thoughts of her physique in equal measure. But she had wanted him. Or she had until it had come time to graduate. Nadia had wanted to continue with her training. She had her eye on becoming the first woman to run the entire Academy and Alec had his duties in Remalna. Still, he'd foolishly asked her to come with him. She'd refused and his heart had been broken for a time, but after a decade, the scar was barely visible.

"Just one little Eryk and one little Nadia," amended Eryk wryly, his deep voice rounding out his foreign vowels nicely.

"Still, congratulations," Alec said with a grin directed at Eryk but meant to ease Nadav's worry that he had yet to get over the heartbreak of leaving Nadia to her aspirations. "Besides marrying one of the prettiest, and scariest, girls from school, what have you gotten up to?"

"I'm the Swordmaster at the Academy now, believe it or not. Swordmaster Holden." He puffed out his chest as he said it, his eyes bright with pride.

"He kind of looks like Swordmaster Nestor, don't you think?" Nadav laughed.

Swordmaster Nestor had been the smith's hammer that, slowly, blow after blow, had turned the raw boys and girls that went to Marloven Hess into skilled warriors. He had acted as mentor and guide to many of the cadets, though he was never on close enough terms that anyone would call him a friend. And yes, he and Eryk did have the same tall, heavy build that made them both powerful and deceptively quick.

Alec placed his right hand over his heart in the traditional Marloven salute then extended it to grasp Eryk's calloused hand. "You have my belated congratulations. And Nadav's right, you _do_ look like Master Nestor!"

"It's the beard," Eryk admitted with a chuckle, fingering the well-cultivated blond beard at his chin. "It is my feeble attempt to look more like _Master_ Holden rather than cadet Holden."

"Well, I'm not surprised you made it to Swordmaster so soon. You always were the best of us when it came to the blade," Alec said. "What ever happened to Master Nestor, though? Did he retire?"

"Oh no, Master Nestor's too restless for retirement. He runs the Academy with Nadia," replied Eryk. At Nadav and Alec's matching looks of surprise he said, "Remember how Nadia used to say that she'll be the first woman to run the Academy? Well, she's more than halfway there. She started out training the girls in horseback riding and knives, and then she was roped in to help with the boys. It wasn't long before she was assisting Nestor with the overall running of the place."

"So Nestor's headmaster now?" asked Nadav.

"He is. Master Nestor was promoted a couple of years after the two of you graduated; just after I joined the Academy as a Master."

"I'd always thought you would sign up with the Dragoons. You were the masters' star pupil. I don't recall anything you didn't excel in," said Alec.

"I could never beat you at knives," Eryk rejoined, "or out-think Nadav in command class. And besides," he shrugged, "things change. What people want…need…they change."

"Come now," said Nadav with a smile. "What say you to some archery? That's the most even playing field we're likely get!"

The three men laughed, trading jokes back and forth as they made their way to the archery gallery which had just been vacated by a group of Colendrian soldiers. After a bell, their fiercely competitive archery session left their arms feeling like boiled noodles and Eryk the clear winner.

"Shall we try something different?" asked Eryk, gesturing to the knives Alec had strapped to his wrists.

"Count me out, I'll stick to what I'm good at," said Nadav tapping a finger to his temple, "and leave the sweaty physical labour to you warriors types."

The two blond haired young men wiped the perspiration from their brows and swept back their damp hair as they took their places before two identical targets. "Tricks or target?" asked Alec.

"Target. I'm keeping my tricks up my sleeve – for now," replied Eryk.

* * *

Ezra was on liberty and life, did she feel liberated! It was probably due to the letting go of all that unnecessary hatred, anger and regret the night before. She had not acknowledged its weight upon her back until Lolo said, a knowing smile on her face, "Do they not say that we should love the ones who live since there is no point loving them when they're dead? I suppose it's the same for hate."

When Ezra clearly didn't understand her, she elaborated.

She shrugged and waved her peacock fan, "You loved Will when he lived, and you wanted to continue loving him when he died. But you were angry with him for leaving you, so you decided to hate your Prince instead since he was the only living thing left to hate."

So she had, on Lolo's advice over a third glass of very good wine, sought out Rider to let him know that she was done with her hatred. It may have been one of Lolo's better suggestions, unlike the time she had suggested that eleven-year-old Ezra help her to stowaway on the _Fearless_ in exchange for a gorgeous duchess-style silk hat embellished with tulle and peacock feathers. Ezra had agreed, but Dita had seen the hat (which was hard to conceal due to its size and fragility) perched among some chests that had been carefully stacked in the corner of the Captain's rooms and asked about its origins and how it had come to be in Ezra's possession. She had picked up the hat at Ezra's evasive answer, revealing a head of dark curls belonging to a twelve-year-old Lolo.

Hence, it was with a spring in her step that she went about exploring the palace in Eidervaen. She had done the same at Athanarel, and found herself mentally comparing furnishings and fabrics. Pillaging the corridors of the palace in Athanarel-city would have been far more rewarding than the almost dull grand ballroom here. All things told, she would have much rather been surrounded by the lushness of Athanarel than the utilitarian furnishings of Sartor.

When she arrived at the practice courts, she was greeted with the cacophony of the violent clash of steel foils in deadly combat, the rhythmic thuds of arrows and knives into their respective targets, and the general murmur of conversation amongst the soldiers in the practice court.

A group of men and women, most of whom were blondes and dressed entirely in black tunics over sturdy black breeches, were drifting around the area for target practice. Lord Nadav strolled casually from their midst, pausing here and there to exchange a greeting or receive a clap on the shoulder. His blue-black hair stood out in contrast to their fair heads and complimented the unrelieved black of his tunic. He smiled when he saw her, his face suffusing with genuine pleasure; and she saw then in the planes of his face one so acutely conscious of his beauty that he only unleashed the full vision of it to a trusted few.

"Ezra! Looking for Alec?" he asked, casually pushing back a few strands of stray hair that had escaped his queue.

"What makes you think I was looking for him and not you?" she countered.

A look of surprise flickered across his face before his eyebrows drew together in a frown. "Is it Djilia? He's not backing out is he?"

"No, no," she quickly reassured, coaxing a relieved grin from the handsome young lord. "I was just exploring the palace grounds. Like my grandpa used to say, 'you must know every nook and cranny of your ship in order sail it well.'"

"Why would you want to sail the palace for?" He folded his arms and regarded her with mock-solemnity.

Ezra laughed but took his query at face value. "Well, in a manner of speaking, I suppose." In a flash, her eyes narrowed as she contemplated the possibility he had unintentionally raised. "I mean, we've been planning to preempt a strike from the sea because the Brotherhood of the Damned are involved, but what about from land? Sartor and Norsunder share a border on the west, don't they?"

"You're right. How could we have overlooked that?" said Nadav, now serious in earnest. "Splitting our forces is not ideal, but it'll have to do if we want to cover all our flanks. Either that or we try to ascertain which direction Norsunder will choose to strike from the hardest."

He sighed, all trace of joviality gone.

A few women near enough to see his change in expression but far enough not to have overheard their conversation seemed to sigh with him.

"Well, it seems I have work to do. Alec's back there throwing knives," he waved over his shoulder, indicating the area he'd just left. "If there's anything else you think I should be aware of, let Alec know. He'll know where to find me." He saluted with a click of his boot heels and left at a brisk walk.

Ezra was reluctant to seek Rider out, but a crowd of onlookers was gathered where Lord Nadav had indicated, and her curiosity got the better of her. She wriggled her way through bodies to stand at the front, a task made easier by her petite stature, and gawked as a huge blond man, nearly the size of Uncle Bear, threw knife after knife into the target at the far end of the hall, sticking the outermost edge of the target with four shivering hilts at the four points of the compass. Rider's turn was next. He had applauded his competitor's efforts with a laugh but was all seriousness when his turn to compete.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing that he would like to take the young man's place in front of the target.

The "giant" looked amused as he stepped out of the way and Ezra noticed money changing hands among the Marlovens who tittered excitedly unlike their usual silent selves. Without warning, Rider flung first one knife then the other at the target. The first knife struck the knife at North, jostling it out of position to fall noisily to the floor. The second knife slid past the one at South with a metallic _ching!_ It shuddered for a second before it shook loose of the corkboard target. The crowd was utterly silent except for a collective exhalation of breath. She barely managed to glimpse two more knives appear like magic in his hands before they were simultaneously hurtling towards the East and West points of the target. The unmusical clatter of metal on the stone floor sent the crowd into wild applause and whistles of appreciation, and Ezra found herself shouting her appreciation with the lot of them.

"Rematch! Rematch!" someone yelled, and the chant that was soon taken up by many.

Rider looked askance at the man next to him, "What do you say, Master Holden? It seems the masses are not satisfied with the outcome of this friendly match."

Master Holden held up a hand to silence their spectators. "A rematch will have to wait. For now, I bow to the superior skills of our alumnus Alaraec-Sierlaef of Remalna." Both men saluted one another by placing his right hand over his heart in acknowledgement of the other's skill.

The crowd gradually dispersed but some lingered to discuss the display of marksmanship they had just witnessed or, in the case of the female spectators, to cast admiring glances Rider and Master Holden's way. Ezra shook off the surprise and awe that was clouding her brain before approaching the two men.

"Rider!" she called, giving him a jaunty wave and a bright smile as he looked away from his companion.

Unlike his cousin, who had seemed happy to see her, Rider's expression seemed immediately wary. However, he attempted to hide his discomfort behind the usual formalities. When Ezra was close enough, he gestured toward her, "Eryk, may I present you to Captain Ezranya Fyn, our 'pirate expert'? Captain Fyn, my good friend Master Eryk Holden of Marloven Hess."

She wondered briefly why Rider had refrained from addressing her by her nickname as he was wont to do before she took Master Holden's outstretched hand. He gave her hand a brisk pump and said, "If you don't mind me saying Captain, you're mighty small for a soldier!"

"I assure you that Captain Fyn's outward appearance belies her true prowess in the field," interjected Rider before she could form her own retort, and she raised her brow at him.

"Let the Captain speak for herself, Alec! She doesn't look like the type who needs you leaping to her defense," said Master Holden with a chuckle that sounded like a rumble in his chest. Rider colored at his remark.

"You're right," said Ezra, propping her hands on her hips in an attempt to look larger than she actually was. "Captain Fyn doesn't need anyone defending her. She does that by herself just fine," she added with a pointed look at Rider. Then, turning to Master Holden she said, "Though he's right. I can cut a man your size down while he's laughing in my face because I'm so puny."

She saw Rider note her pose and press his lips together to keep from grinning. She raised both brows at him this time, and smiled.

The other man laughed. "As 'pirate expert' will you be joining us at the meeting later today?" asked Master Holden politely.

"I wasn't informed of a meeting today," replied Ezra. "I wonder why?" she added with false sweetness, cocking her head to the side and slanting a suspicious glance Alec's way.

"My apologies Captain, it simply slipped my mind," Rider said. "The meeting will begin just after lunch, in the Green Chamber. And I was rather hoping that you would attend, though I'm unsure when your expertise will be needed."

Master Holden grinned, clapping Rider on the back. "There's a good man. Captain Fyn will be a pleasant enough sight at this dreary meeting."

"I'm sure she'll be something, all right," Rider agreed.

Holden laughed. "I believe it. Anyway, duty calls. We will speak again, Alec, eh? Nadia will want to see you."

Ezra wondered at the meaning that lay behind the look that the two men exchanged above her head. "I would like that. If only to make sure that you've been treating her well."

"You'll see," said Master Holden, shaking Rider's proffered hand. Turning to Ezra he said, "I did not mean to cause any offense Captain Fyn. I have no doubt that you are an exemplary officer and soldier. Perhaps we could have a bout someday?"

"Having seen _that_?" She indicated the targets still studded with knives. "I think not. I only fight the battles I can win."

"Spoken like a true soldier."

"Nothing further from the truth, Master Holden," Ezra countered. "I spoke it like a true pirate. Soldiers have to go into battles their commanding officers send them to whether they can win or not."

"I fear, at times, that is only too true," the large man said.

After another handshake, he strode down the hall with a ramrod straight back to retrieve his knives.

Ezra and Rider watched him leave before turning back to face one another. She spoke first cutting him off when it looked like he would say something. "Impressive. I'm surprised you haven't stuck me like a pincushion after everything I've done to annoy you."

"In case you haven't noticed, I have far more restraint than you do," replied Rider, indicating with a tilt of his head that they should walk to retrieve his knives.

"I suppose I should be grateful that you acknowledge that the grain of restraint I do have," she said, receiving a laughing look from his grey eyes that crinkled at the corners as he fought a smile.

"You look happy today," he commented. "The mood suits you."

"You talk as if you've never seen me happy before!" she exclaimed as he tugged his knives out of the target and slid them back up his wrist sheaths.

"If I recall, during the beginning of our acquaintance, you were sullen, insubordinate, angry—justifiably, so," he assured her, "and very sad. When you _were_ happy, it was usually at my expense. I'm afraid I was either suffering from a tidal wave of embarrassment or in too much pain to take pleasure from your happiness." He touched the eye she had punched the year before, wincing at the memory.

Ezra laughed and grabbed his wrist, tugging it away from his face. "Just so you know, there's more where that came from!"

She felt him stiffen when her bare hands came into contact with his skin and immediately pulled back. "Sorry, I didn't mean to invade your personal space," she said with a sarcastic roll of her eyes. Then she looked right at him and said, "It's just nice to know that you don't hate me and I don't hate you. I feel a thousand pounds lighter! Lolo was right, 'If you hate, you turn hateful'. It always surprises me that she gives such good advice, though I doubt she takes it much. I suppose if you learn, you turn learn…"

"Learned," supplied Rider helpfully.

"And if you love then you turn loveful or is it loved?" asked Ezra.

"Loveable. You turn loveable," corrected Rider, "Though it can be said that being loved is the eventuality of being loveable." He was staring at her in the most bemused way. It was actually rather funny, and Ezra couldn't help but grin. "Are you usually so nice and lov…" He seemed to choke himself off, but then tried again, as they made their way across the Practice Courts, towards the hallway. "Are you usually so nice to people you don't hate anymore?"

"In case you haven't noticed," she said, pitching her voice low in a near perfect mimicry of his words earlier, "I'm exceedingly nice and loveable to my friends. Since it's clear that we both don't hate each other, it can be assumed that we aren't enemies, which in turn translates into us being friends, yes?"

"Indeed." Alec nodded his agreement, and she could see that he was relieved she had finally accepted him as a friend an ally thought there was still a little crease between his brows. "I suppose I'm just not used to you being so nice to me. Not that that's a bad thing, you understand?" he added, as she arched a brow. "In fact, I could get used to this."

"Don't get too comfortable," retorted Ezra as the bells chimed in the distance. "I should get going. You probably have a mountain of paperwork to read through, if I remember that long list of responsibilities you shouted at me yonks ago." He quirked a smile at her, and she sighed in over-acted apology. "I, on the other hand, have to find Thanyl. You wouldn't happen to know where is, do you?"

Her casual remark seemed to stiffen his once easy smile. With a renewed indifference, he said, "Can't say that I do. I haven't seen him since last night."

They stood at the doors to the Practice Courts, each headed in a different direction. "If you see him, tell him that I'm looking for him?" asked Ezra, stepping into the hallway leading to the right. After a second's reflection, she spun around so that she was walking backwards. "And you've gotta teach me how you throw those knives!"

* * *

After returning to his rooms, Alec spent the morning before the first formal meeting of the summit reviewing his notes. He had a catalogue of all the known pirate attacks and to which vessels and captains the attacks were attributed to. He had a copy of the map he and Ezra had created that showed the routes through the Strait that the Brotherhood fleet had taken. He had a transcript of the Gypsy-turned-pirate Djilia's testimony as well as those of the sailors and marines he had taken with him on his mission aboard the _Valiant_. Thanyl would be with him today, and so would Ezra.

Alec took a moment to recall her the way she had been that morning in the Practice courts. He had tried so hard not to stare at the relaxed, sweet-tempered person who could not be but was, in fact, Ezra Fyn. A loveable Ezra. One that he could now trust not to stab him in the back, neither literally nor figuratively. That thought was a balm as well as a distraction.

A brief knock came at the tapestry, and Nadav sauntered in before Alec said a word.

"Morning, Alec. Sleep well?"

"Yes," he lied. "What do you have for me?"

Nadav dropped to the cushion across the table. He picked through the remaining biscuit pieces, dipped one into the crock of apple jam, and popped it in his mouth. "May I at least have some coffee first?"

Alec handed the pot over. "Talk _while_ you pour."

"Very well," he said, doing just that. "There are three Adrani delegates I would watch out for. Count Arrigo Ciammacha, Duchess Petracine Vallerria, and Baron Spira Jovan. Each has holdings on the west coast of Sles Adran, and all have been known to propose raising the toll for ships passing through the Saffron Islands." He took a long swallow of coffee and continued. "My money for the Norsundrian spy is on the Baron. He has substantial holding in the Saffron Islands. Who better to sneak Brotherhood ships through?"

"And the Catalians?" Alec asked. "What of them?"

"They," Nadav pointed at the doorway to emphasize his point, "are as slippery as the Colendrians. Two of them that I can name are sharks in lambs' wool."

"I believe the saying calls for wolves," Alec chuckled.

His cousin snorted. "Wait until you meet them. _Sharks_. Wolves are afraid of people and can be run off."

"Whereas sharks consider humans a delicacy," Alec guessed.

"Too right," Nadav agreed. "Don Matista Inzaniavarro, brother-in-law of Duke Arnau Casonerros is probably the shark with the biggest grin. He's a professional politician, fathered by politicians. He's a member of the Council of Ten, reporting directly to the king. His father was also a Councilman. Don Matista is responsible for most of the current trade laws and economic atmosphere around Cataline's horn. And through his sister, he has access to Duke Casonerros's treasury and influence with the nobility. Do not offend him, and beware when he smiles, for that is when all his teeth are showing."

"The better to eat us with," Alec surmised.

Nadav nodded. "The second shark is Marquessa Belén Anastagio-Socorra. A side note, she's related to the Arch-Duchess of Sles Adran."

"It was my observation last night that the Catalian ladies were all rather quiet and demure," Alec noted.

"Yes, and for the same reason that Colendrian women are gay and flirtatious—to hide any intelligence they possess."

"So the Don is the shark whose dorsal fin we see out beyond the reef, and the Marquessa hides in the shallows near to shore?"

Nadav ginned. "I see Ezra's use of nautical imagery has rubbed off on you."

Alec scowled back. "You were the one who likened them to sharks. I merely did not wish to mix metaphors. That's all."

"Of course," his cousin nodded, still smiling.

"Is there anyone else I should keep watch for?" Alec asked, changing the subject.

"Only the usual. The Marlovens are, as always, ready for battle. We both trained with them, so you should have no problems anticipating their moves. The Lamancans are wary and willing to talk peace at whatever cost. They've had very bad crops the last few years. They're struggling to feed themselves as it is. A war would bankrupt them and take what resources they have left."

"I cannot fault them for that. If this does come to war, it will be the responsibility of the better prepared to help Lamanca with supplies and tactics which keep Norsunder out of the country."

"I hope the other countries agree with you," Nadav drawled before moving on. "The only other two I would worry about are the tu'Gatte's of Colend and the delegates from Denlieff. And since you already have Colend in your pocket thanks to the ever-surprising Captain Fyn, just watch for the Denlieffi temper. They still think everyone is out to conquer, enslave, or at least influence them."

"Hopefully there will be no surprises, then." Alec wiped his mouth with his handkerchief—the one Ezra had finally returned to him—and stood. "The meeting begins in less than a candle. I would like to size up the delegates as they enter. If you're finished here, we can go."

Nadav rolled his eyes, sighing. "Fine. Starve your poor relative whom you should be taking pity on."

"Go beg breakfast from your sister if you're that hungry," he said as he walked for the tapestry.

"As if she'd give me any!" whined Nadav as he took a last gulp of coffee and grabbed a handful of biscuits.

Nadav caught up easily, and the two started down the corridor for the Green Chamber, where the meeting of the delegates was to take place.

"When do you think we'll be able to bring in Ezra and Djilia to testify?" Nadav asked.

"It will probably be a day or so before Djilia is needed to give his account of his time with the Brotherhood in Norsunder. I've given him leave to explore the grounds—with an armed escort, of course, both for his own safety and to keep him from bolting on us. As for Captain Fyn, I've requested her presence today."

Nadav stopped in the middle of the corridor. "You what?"

Alec kept walking, a smirk pulling at his mouth. "You heard me. Ezra will be at the meeting this morning."

"When you know full well she won't get to speak for another day, at least?" Nadav demanded with his own grin as he caught up.

Alec glanced at his cousin, briefly letting a true smile show on his face before smoothing his features. "It is my hope that the Captain's presence will help to speed along the process of initial debate as to why we are here and if it is even a worthy excuse for a summit." More seriously now, Alec turned to face Nadav. "The sooner we can agree on a counter strategy to ward off Norsunder, the safer we will all be."

"I agree. I just wince at the thought of the havoc Ezra will wreak while slashing her way through all the formalities."

Once again, Alec was smiling.

* * *

Ezra was seated at the back of the assembly against wall where she was forced to listen to the introductions of the formal delegates, _ad nausium_. Each noble and aristocrat was announced by name, title, nationality, and pedigree back at least two generations and what those forbearers were known for, along with any pertinent loyalties and alliances the delegate may have. Ezra wondered after the first bell-change when they would ever get around to actually discussing Norsunder and the Brotherhood.

Two bells in, Ezra began to worry that she would never see the light of day again. Queen Yustnesveas had—either wisely or unwisely—chosen one of the large rooms at the center of the palace. It had no windows. No outside distractions could divert the attention of the delegates. That, however, left them nothing to distract them from their mutual prejudice, competitiveness, and self-righteousness. And it was not only the Catalians and the Colendrians who disagreed on principle. The Denlieffi delegates refused to listen to a word the Remalnan's said. The Lamancanese and Adranis were teamed up against the delegates from Chwairsland due, according to Lolo, to an aristocratic botched marriage proposal and something to do with a race horse. None of the stories Lolo had heard were the same, so even she had no idea what was true and what had been blown far out of proportion.

The bickering, the grand-standing, and the sheer dim-wittedness of these pompous idiots had gone on for quite long enough, her temper decided for her.

"May I ask a question?" Ezra demanded, standing up from her chair at the back of the room.

All eyes in the room turned to her. Some held simple curiosity, others sardonic humor, and many held clear disdain. Ezra saw Lolo mouth her name and shake her head almost imperceptivity, but Rider simply raised his brows, a gleam in his eyes urging her onward. Ezra inwardly grinned that he, too, was fed-up with the posturing of the other delegates.

"I thought Norsunder was the general enemy here," Ezra continued. "I thought their greed and lust for power, their need to dominate and control others, their seeking to create order by simply crushing all opposition was seen as wrong and evil by those of you allied here? If that's so, then I find myself wondering why most of you haven't thrown in with their side!"

"Now see here—" one of the men from Lamanca tried to interject.

"All you're doing is trying to squash each other because of some nonsense that might or might not have happened who-knows how long ago," Ezra shouted over him. "Or you simply don't like the bloke sitting next to you. And you lot!" She pointed to the Chwahir delegates. "What was it about the race horse? Was the potential bride mounted by the damn thing? Or was it the groom that did the mounting? And either way, what does it matter when you've got Norsunder eating away at your coastlines and probably readying to do more and worse?

"And as for Your Majesties," she addressed Queen Yustnesveas and Rel. "I though you were supposed to head the meeting and impose some kind of ancient, diplomatic order. I don't see any order here at the moment. Do your job! For the love of life, I've seen pirates—vicious killers and unprincipled thieves of far worse disposition than most of you all—sit down to make deals with more civility than what you _fine nobles_ are apparently capable of.

"So you know what? Rather than waste my time listening to you lot puffed-up pigeons squabble, I'm going down to the training courts. Rider, have someone come get me when they're ready to listen."

Ezra strode to the door, but stopped when she heard the Lamancan lord demand, "Just who do you think you are to speak to us in such a manner?"

She turned around and met the man's eye. He was short and fat, his thick robes only enhancing his portliness rather than hiding it as she was sure he hoped they would. His head was completely bald on top with a ring of brown fringe around the circumference, covering his ears. She put all her effort, every trick of aristocratic voice she had ever learned from Lolo, Caelron, Elestra, and Rider into surpassing the lord's supercilious tone.

"I am Captain Ezranya Fyn, once of the _Valiant_, and mostly loyal subject of Remalna; friend of tu'Gatte and Merindar, granddaughter of the pirate 'Fearless' Fyn Narguian, vassal of Baron Tamnus Capstan of Tourmaline Island; granddaughter of Loredana of the Flacara Clan, Lucru Ales of all Gypsies; daughter of Dathan and Aletya, farmers and vintners." She paused to look him up and down with an expression she had seen Lolo use to quell many a foe before she asked, "And you are?"

The man sputtered as he searched for something to say. He had already been introduced, of course. It was clear he expected such a name as his would be remembered.

Ezra smirked, and then, without another word, pivoted and left the room. She was quite proud of the restraint she showed by not slamming the door behind her.

* * *

Alec watched her leave the room while fighting a smirk of his own. The confrontation so far had gone far better than he hoped. He had anticipated the need to subtly provoke Ezra into an outburst if need be. Luck had it that so many of the delegates were jockeying for power for themselves or their countries within the Alliance with puerile vengeance that Ezra's impatience and temper had gotten the better of her all on its own.

He caught Thanyl's eye from across the room. The other man's moustache was twitching, though Alec could see from his friend's narrowed eyes that it was not in amusement. The Commander was near to being irate at Ezra's behavior. Alec made a note to speak with Thanyl later.

"Well," Yustnesveas broke the stunned silence, a laugh hidden in her voice, "it seems we have been put in our places."

"Your Majesty, tell me you are going to do something about that woman," the Lamancan delegate demanded.

"Oh, I absolutely will," the Queen assured him. "I am going to thank her. I believe she made an excellent point. We have strayed from the purpose of this summit. We are not here to argue about who is to speak first and why. We are here to discuss a troubling situation we all have been suffering under. My son, Kaelan-Dei, has recently been in Remalna with the Rensaleaus family who has been keeping a watch on the pirate situation for several years now. According to information he gleaned there, the pirate attacks that have been plaguing our collective coast lines with increasing frequency and brutality the last five years are not merely random raids but orchestrated attacks by Norsunder in an attempt to weaken our coastlines and make us that much more susceptible to invasion. If this is true, it likely means an eventual attack on our countries directly. We are here to discuss the likelihood of this claim being true, and then determine what we are going to do about it, if it is."

She turned to Alec, "Prince Alaraec, I believe you have some evidence to present us."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Alec stood to address the assembly, ignoring the still-gaping Lamancan standing catty-corner to him. "I have expert opinions both from naval officers of Remalna as well as several former pirates, Captain Ezranya Fyn included. The Captain lived most of her life aboard the pirate vessel, _Fearless_, until a few years ago. I also have a testimonial from a former member of the Brotherhood of the Damned."

After a glance shared with her husband, Queen Yustnesveas nodded. "I think it would be best if we invited Captain Fyn back to our meeting after we break for supper. It will give us all a chance to cool our heads."

"Yes," Alec said, fighting back a smile. "When the Captain is annoyed, she tends to start throwing punches."

"Or breaking things," Lady Emilionelle added from down the long table.

"How charming," the Lamancan delegate muttered. Then, louder, he asked, "And we are expected to listen to this woman—an ex-pirate with a habit of turning violent when upset?"

"As opposed to a bureaucrat who bought his position with his family's money and is shouting down the chandeliers when upset?" Prince Rel challenged quietly from his place by his wife's side.

The delegate turned red in the face from his wobbling double chin to his nearly bald pate, "You speak against your guest and ally for that…that _troublemaker_?" he exclaimed. He looked around for support but no one was willing to speak against the Sartoran monarchs, both of who refused to dignify his question with a response. Fuming, he took his seat again.

Alec carefully kept his face blank and refused to look away from those observing him when he caught their gazes. As Queen Yustnesveas gently led the discussion to the topic of the pirate attacks that each country represented had suffered, Alec found the rest of the afternoon passing quickly.

Less than half a candle later, a recess was called, and the summit broke for their afternoon tea. Alec made it to the door among the first wave of people exiting, intent on finding Ezra and congratulating her. He stopped outside briefly to await Nadav to let him know where he was headed in case someone needed him.

As he waited for his cousin, the Sartoran monarchs filed out. Queen Yustnesveas set her hand on his arm as she passed him. Alec bowed slightly to acknowledge her age and rank, and he heard her murmur, "Well played Alaraec. A bit dramatic, but well played, all the same."

He did smile then with a bit more warmth than a casual pleasantry could account for, if someone had been watching.

"Aside from my requesting her presence this morning—which Captain Fyn would likely have demanded had I not offered first—I had no part in her outburst."

"Mm," the Queen hummed in amusement. "I like her. Don't do anything silly like marry for politics sake. She's lovely, spirited, opinionated, and she gets things done. She'd make an excellent queen."


	19. Instinct

Gypsy Queen

Chapter 19: Instinct

"_She would make an excellent queen."_

Queen Yustnesveas's words played over and over in Alec's mind as he headed for the practice court. He kept his face calm and composed, but inside he was in turmoil. He had never allowed himself to truly think of Ezra in any light except, perhaps, his friend. If he was lucky, a lover. Never before had he entertained a thought of her as his wife.

"_She would make an excellent queen."_

_Would she?_ Alec wondered.

Ezra was headstrong, violent, stubborn, prideful, vulgar on occasion, completely ignorant of court life or customs, and so she barreled on in complete disregard of them. Life! Even if she knew the custom perfectly well, she would completely disregard it, thereby alienating and offending those who practiced it, if she did not agree with the custom or if it seemed silly to her.

_And yet…._

And yet, it was that very quality that made her so effective in the summit meeting today. Ezra was forthright. She was intelligent, clever, and not easily duped. She was logical, and though she did on occasion react on emotion, she always calmed down and listened to reason. She was fierce in her defense of those she loved and had sworn a loyalty to. She loved her family—her fear for and devotion to her grandfather when he had been injured in the battle that brought down the _Fearless_ was proof of that, as was her devotion to her first love, Willem. She would be just as fierce, just as loyal, just as loving, just as devoted to her country…once she was given a reason to be.

He remembered what her friend, fellow ex-pirateCostran, had said many months ago. That Ezra did not blindly follow orders. She didn't fight just because she was expected to. But if she was given a personal stake, if her heart was involved, then oh, yes. She was a like a typhoon, like a tidal wave—an unstoppable force.

She would make an excellent queen.

He reached the practice courts where just that morning he had had to swallow his heart when he saw her standing on the edge of the crowd, a surprised grin on her face, hands clapping and hip cocked as she'd watched him competing with Eryk Holden in their contest of knives. The court was nearly deserted at this time. Most of the guards were on duty during the day, and the practice court held only a knot of Denlieffi soldiers—Denlieffi's always coming over-prepared for everything, he'd found—and a slightly larger group of Sartoran soldiers stationed permanently in the palace. Ezra was with none of them. She stood at one of the archery stands, firing bolt after bolt into one of the circular targets from the quiver standing on end at her feet. She'd removed the coat of the more decorative version of her uniform, the one she had worn the night before to the welcome ball. It lay at her feet, obviously dropped with no thought to wrinkles and dirt. Ezra was now dressed in just her shirt and the sturdy bodice that the female soldiers wore rather than a corset, and he watched the muscles of her shoulders and arms bunch and release as each arrow was knocked, aimed, and shot.

Finally, the last arrow embedded into the center of the target, grouped with the other six she had shot, and Ezra let the bow come down to rest at her side. Her shoulders were quivering with fatigue. How long had she been at this?

"Ezra?"

She jumped and spun to face him. He quirked an eyebrow at her when she grimaced and ducked her head.

"Oh. You."

Her eyes were hard and dull, not the soft glittering of clear beryl the way they had been that morning. It was not precisely the greeting he was hoping for. He mentally shook his head at his hope for her to be as excited to see him, to revel in her triumph with him, as he made his way to her. When he came closer, he noticed her fidgeting. Her next words comforted his ego and rekindled the hope.

"How much trouble am I in?"

"Trouble?"

She rolled her eyes, hip cocking with sass. "For that little scene in there. I lit into that nobleman like he was…I don't know…."

"Like he was a haberdasher who sold off the feathered and bedecked hat he knew you had your eye on?" Alec found himself teasing her.

Ezra snorted. "Well, something like that maybe."

"I'm both relieved and somewhat disappointed that you did not pull a blade on the man," he said.

"Don't think I wasn't tempted!"

There, the stars were back in her eyes. He allowed himself to smile and shook his head. "I actually came to congratulate you on your brilliance, not to chastise you." He unconsciously took a step closer until he was within touching distance. "Ezra, that was superb. Spectacular. I had every faith in you…though I did think you'd get bored sooner, to be honest. I was beginning to wonder if I wouldn't have to provoke you in order to get you to lash out."

And at that, her hand did lash out and thumped him hard on the shoulder. "You idiot!" She was laughing. "You planned that! You used me!"

"I maneuvered you into place and then let you take over," Alec corrected. "I knew what the meeting would be like today, and the same posturing would have extended into this evening and probably tomorrow if someone did not make them see how foolish they were being."

"Then why not just say that yourself?"

"Because I was raised to be as much a diplomat as a warrior. To have one official representative of a nation call out another would be a declaration of hostilities. But to have someone who is only loosely affiliated, someone who can be seen as more objective make the same assessment, then we had a chance they might listen and not take the insult as a veiled declaration of war, or at least a huge social faux pas."

"Oh? Really? Because _that_ wasn't a huge social faux pas?" Ezra squinted at him as if weighing his words before she shrugged. "Well, fine then, I'm not in your bad books. What about everyone else?"

"Queen Yustnesveas thinks you're charming," he admitted. "As for the others, they'll follow her lead. Or at least, they will pretend to while we're here. They may try more underhanded tricks, but I doubt that they'll succeed."

She sighed. "That's good then."

"In fact, Her Majesty asked me to make sure that you would be in the Green Chamber after supper so that we can continue the meeting."

Ezra squinted at him. "Am I actually going to get to talk about the pirates or will I just be sitting through another two bells of 'I'm more important than you are, and here are ten-thousand reasons why'?"

He chuckled, "You will actually get to discuss what you came here to. My word on it."

Ezra smiled and nodded. She opened her mouth to say something further, but Nadav called his name from the doorway of the practice courts. Alec looked over his shoulder at his cousin, cursing his timing.

"Alec! Oria sent me to fetch you. Apparently her teacher is here and they're ready to remove whatever trigger that Zirellia person implanted in your head."

Alec nodded to his cousin and turned back to Ezra. "I'm sorry—"

"No, don't be," she waved him off. "Go on. This is more important than flattering my feelings."

"You will be there this evening? One bell-change, mind you, and we reconvene."

"I've got it. Go!"

Alec bowed once, a smile on his face, and ran to catch up with his cousin.

* * *

Oria tried not to think too much as she stood looking down at her older brother in the sitting room of the apartment she was sharing with Kaelen's sister, Meridanraria. If she thought, she would think about all of the things that might go wrong while she was mucking about in her brother's brain. She might hurt him. She might change him. She might accidentally kill him. But she wasn't thinking, so none of those things entered her mind. Often.

Instead, she was concentrating on finding the quiet place within her so that there were no distractions when she attempted to ferret out whatever malicious seed the Norsundrian sorceress had planted in Alec's head. True, she would be guided by one of her instructors, but she, as Alec's sister and someone he trusted not to manipulate him from inside, would be the one doing most of the work.

She had done this before, of course. But those situations had been in the classroom. She had worked with the test subjects that the Academy provided—mainly subjects that were rather stupid creatures to begin with, with the occasional raven or rat thrown in to help the students gain experience with creatures that thought more than the average gecko or fish. Oria had, obviously, been the top of her class in Mental Manipulation and Influence just as she was in all of her other classes. Academics had always come easily to her. But practicing them on her brother…. Never mind that he was the heir to a kingdom.

_If I break him, Mother's going to kill me,_ she fretted.

"You need to be calm" Master Muhin said. "Agonizing about what may go wrong is a sure way to bring it about."

"Sorry," Oria apologized. Then she shrugged a second apology to Alec who was looking torn between amusement and worry.

"Take a deep breath," her instructor said, "close your eyes, and find your inner sanctuary."

She took the proscribed breath, shut her eyes, and focused on the sound of her heartbeat. Oria let the rhythm lure her into a quiet, restful, receptive state, and then she Did Something. There was a long, polysyllabic word for exactly what it was in academic terms, but Oria preferred to think of it a simply Something—capitalized, of course. She tapped into that Something inside her, imagined a great gray stone fort with a drawbridge, and then, for lack of a better word, knocked.

"Let me in, Alec."

"I'm not sure what you want me to do," he said from very far away.

"Just open the door and let me in," Oria told him. "I promise, no one else can get in with me, not here. You're safe."

She stood staring up at the huge wooden gate that Oria envisioned as the entrance to her brother's mind until slowly, slowly, the gate eased downward to create a bridge that she could cross and enter inside.

"That feels…odd," Alec noted with only a shade of complaint in his tone.

"Not surprising," Master Muhin said, also sounding distant and echoing. "Just remember that this is your sister whom you trust and who will not violate that trust."

"I remember. It's just…don't meddle with anything, Oria."

"I won't Alec," she huffed. "Stop fussing."

"Very good," Master Muhin said. "Oria?"

"I'm here," she answered distractedly, most of her concentration on her mental surroundings. The fort of Alec's mind was just as neat and orderly as she had expected. The outer wall protected the stone keep. Inside that was a long hall with windows to the outside world—this was the hall of immediate thought, and the windows were his eyes, ears, skin, nose, and mouth, taking in the world around him and processing it. His thoughts formed straight rows like soldiers standing at attention. And as soon as the notion came to her, so became the image. The hall was suddenly filled with soldiers standing in battalions. A tiny knot clumped together on one side muttering about her intrusion. Further back, Oria noticed another knot of soldiers not standing in line, but instead clustered around a petite, black-haired, green-eyed woman. She'd heard from Nadav that Alec had been speaking with Ezra in the training court before coming here.

Oria smiled and looked politely away. That was not the thought she'd come here for, though she was glad to see it.

"Oria?" her teacher's voice called again.

"Yes, I hear you. I'm in his surface thoughts.

"I doubt that the trigger would be so close to the surface," Master Muhin said. "Try going in further—gently. Remember to 'knock' at every level. This is not a newt you're working with. This is more than just manners.

She could hurt him if she wasn't polite.

Oria pushed that thought away and focused on her task. She scanned the hall looking for a doorway that would lead further into Alec's mind, beyond the surface thoughts. At the rear of the room was another heavy wooden door flanked by two armed guards. Oria approached and both guardsmen instinctively moved to block her way.

"Alec," she scolded. "Let me in. You know me, you trust me."

"This is…very uncomfortable," he argued.

"I know."

"And it isn't as though I don't trust you, I do. I'm simply…not sure you know how to do this."

"Alec, I know I'm young and I act even younger on occasion. But I am not stupid, and I am not a damn child!" When the two guards still showed no signs of moving, she huffed. "I'm not doing this for my own practice, you know? This is for your benefit. Alec, you _know_ I won't go snooping just to pry. Anything I see will be between the two of us. Or would you rather have a complete stranger mucking through your mind?"

The two guards slowly, grudgingly stepped aside. The door unlatched and eased open on its own. Oria, now fueled and made bold by irritation, stalked through the opening into a dimly lit corridor lined with many doorways, all closed, though some doors were clearly made of stronger stuff than others. From inside several she heard snippets of conversation drifting through. One door was little more than a tapestry hung across the threshold, and from behind it she could hear the familiar sounds of her parents' voices. Another door was made of strong, though unadorned wood. It was open slightly and from inside Oria heard the barked issue of military orders—clearly Alec's training masters resided there.

Further down the hallway, most of the doors were closed, though that did not necessarily stop sound from coming through. The sounds of battle came loudly from behind one door made from the strongest oak studded with steel bolts. Oria tried pressing on the door, curiosity winning out over duty for a moment.

And the trigger could have been hidden there, she supposed.

Another guard appeared just as Alec said her name.

"No, Oria. Not there."

"What if the trigger is in your memories of battle?"

"It won't be."

"But what if it is?"

"Trust me on this one," Alec insisted. "That would not be where a woman like Zirellia would hide her trigger. Not in bloodshed and violence. Besides, some of those memories were formed years before I met her."

Oria sighed and backed away from that particular door.

Master Muhin spoke up again, "Is there anything about this woman you can tell us which might help Oria know where to look for the trigger? Anything you observed of her habits, her personality? You said that she was not someone who would hide a trigger—one that, if I understand correctly, is designed to incite violence with the intent of bloodshed—in a memory of those very things it is geared toward. Why would you say that?"

There was a rustle down the corridor, and from the gloom strolled a tall, elegant blonde woman, her hair even paler than Oria's and hers was the palest shade of yellow hair could be before turning white. This woman's face was young, unlined, so the hair couldn't be silver yet, but it was indeed a white-blonde from crown to brows to lashes. And once Oria was looking at her face, she could see that one of the woman's eyes was filmed over with white haze.

"Zirellia was…a lady," Alec explained.

And indeed, if this phantom was an accurate memory, the woman before her was dressed in flowing blue silk, expensively embroidered with black thread and made in the most fashionable cut currently in vogue.

"She would not have wanted to get her hands dirty with blood," he continued. "She would have seen it as…vulgar, I think. I don't believe she was the type to have ever even picked up a weapon herself. She had servants and bodyguards to do that for her. And she was proud of the fact."

"Servants?" Muhin asked. "Male or female?"

Alec thought a moment, and other figures came to join the image of Zirellia Ianthe standing in the long corridor of Alec's mind. All were pirates judging from their tattered clothing, poor hygiene, and legs both toned and bowed from years of shifting their weight upon heaving decks.

"Male. All male. She surrounded herself with men."

"She did not even have a maid to help her dress and with her toilet?"

"No."

And in the space it took Alec to think the word, before he even said it aloud, Oria was suddenly transported with his thoughts farther into his mind, into a place of memory—half sight, half sound, and all the sensations of feeling that could be encompassed into one crystalline flash of remembrance.

The beautiful Zirellia stood before an armoire in a small but incredibly opulent room. The smell of saltwater and the cool brush of a sea breeze fluttered in from a porthole behindOria(or rather, behind Alec). She watched, transfixed, unable to move—quite literally, she found as she tried to look away when Zirellia dropped her gown off her shoulders into a puddle on the floor. The woman was talking, but Oria could not make out a word as she stared, helpless, at the woman's naked body.

It was a compulsion, she realized. As soon as she did, as soon as she knew what she was dealing with, Oria heard it. It was the faint whisper, soft and warm as a lover's caress. And with it were gossamer threads floating delicately through the air from the naked woman preening before a long oval mirror to wrap around her brother.

Oria shifted all of her focus onto those threads, wrenched herself away from Alec's memory with the sting of a friction burn, and followed the threads deeper into her brother's mind, past the doors of unconscious influence, those that housed the ingrained military training and the guidance of Mother and Father, past the horrible memories of battle that Alec didn't want her to see…much, much too far, Oria soon realized. They passed even the subconscious whispers of culture and morals and empathy and resistance into a dark, undefined place where something stalked the jagged shadows, growling, hungry. Rustles of surprised animals filled the damp air.

There was light here, though, a light which should not have been in this place of instinct. It was at the end of those bright threads of Zirellia's magic, and Oria knew that at the end of it would be the trigger.

"I think I found it," she whispered. "Don't distract me."

She followed the threads, the light growing brighter as she neared. With the light, however, came the sounds. A hitched breath, a long sigh, a grunt, a whimper, the slap of slick flesh against slick flesh. She was afraid she knew what she would see even before she reached them.

No sister should ever, ever, ever…ever—_never_ see her brother in that position. Ever.

Oria's first instinct was a hasty retreat and possibly some vomiting. But a tingle in her fingertips that she had always associated with magic made her look again—at the woman, mainly, and at the thought as a whole (staying clear of Alec's image). The first thing she noticed was how clear the image was. She could see the beauty mark on Zirellia's face and each sculpted muscle on the woman's body. She could even see a small, pink birthmark on the base of the woman's spine. There was no fading of the memory of her nakedness, no blurring of time or passion, no feature that was forgotten to be rendered in a realist's detail.

The second was that, in this place of instinct and mindless desire, it was Zirellia that was leading the proceedings. (Though Oria took pains not to notice this too much.) After having seen the inside of a rat's mind when contemplating mating, and a salamander's and a raven's, she knew that this was too much like a seduction, a thought from much further up in a human being's mind than the need to couple and thrust that lie in this very inhuman part of the psyche.

"I found it," she declared.

"What is it attached to?" Master Muhin asked.

"Lust," Oria said with a faint note of disappointment in her voice. Honestly, if her big brother could be so easily controlled, was there no hope for any man at all? "And before you ask, I don't think we can remove it."

"Why not?" Alec asked.

She drew in a deep breath, closed her eyes, metaphorically, and when she opened them again, she was back in her physical body. And very stiff-jointed from sitting in one position so long.

"Well," Alec demanded, crossing his arms and clearly trying to force the flush of embarrassment off of his face. He obviously knew she'd seen something, especially with her comment about lust before. "Why can't you remove the trigger?"

Oria turned to face her instructor. "It's buried in with instinct. If I tried to remove it…."

Her teacher nodded, resigned.

"Perhaps you could explain what that means to one with no magical training," Alec suggested in a tone that indicated that it was most assuredly not a suggestion. It was his king-voice. Their father had one just like it—cold, imperious, and not to be trifled with. And like Papa, it worked much better on those he was not related to.

"What she means," Master Muhin explained, "is that the trigger this woman has left in your mind is in a place where all of your basic instincts lie—hunger, territorial proprietorship, the instinct to flee or fight, even basic bodily functions like breathing and blinking are housed here."

"And lust," Alec concluded.

"The mating instinct. Yes," Muhin said with a smile and a shrug. "If I understand Oria correctly, Zirellia has somehow managed not only to trigger feelings of lust—and most likely a protective, proprietary feeling of not just desire, but ownership—into your subconscious, but straight down to where those drives originate. To remove the trigger might remove vital portions of your psyche."

"It's like what the old mages did millennia ago," Oria elaborated. "They wanted to rid humanity of violence and rapaciousness. They succeeded, largely, but they nearly destroyed the drive to mate at all, or to protect those who depended on them."

Master Muhin nodded. "Try to imagine not only _not_ feeling desire, for anyone or anything, but feeling no need fight, even when you're threatened, or when those you love are. Perhaps not even being able to feel love. We've found no concrete proof of it, but I'm convinced that love is an instinct, too. Though some of my colleagues disagree."

"And if you removed the trigger, those things would be lost to me," Alec surmised.

"Very likely, in one form or another," Muhin said. "If there is one thing we have learned from the ancient's misuse of power it is that, in order for any good thing to exist, it must cast a shadow. Remove the shadow, and you damage the whole."

"I'm sorry, Alec," Oria whispered, taking her brother's hand.

He smiled at her and shook his head. "It's not your fault. You did your best," he said, squeezing her hand reassuringly, "Apparently Zirellia's more devious than we've given her credit for."

* * *

With Tara and Kitty dining with the Sartoran royal siblings, Alec, Nadav, Flauvic, and Oria sat down to their supper in the parlor shared by the three men and Tara. Like their surroundings, their meal was simple but nourishing. Alec could tell that Oria had not gotten over her failure at removing the trigger Zirellia had implanted in his sub-consciousness. Her disappointment showed plainly as she picked listlessly at her food. No amount of cajoling from Nadav seemed to perk her spirits, even Flauvic's attempt at drawing her into a discussion on the Morality of Magics failed to improve her appetite.

In all honesty, Alec was more concerned about what his sister had seen inside his head rather than his well-being or the threat Zirellia's trigger posed. Along with a healthy dose of mortification at the thought of his younger sister catching him _in flagrante delecto—_whether it was material or imaginary did not matter—he was also ashamed at remembering the disappointment in her voice when she'd told them where she'd found the trigger located. After he had tried, and succeeded, to warn Oria away from the memories of bloodshed, he still failed to protect her a part of himself he hated to admit existed. As he thought of it, Alec found he understood more deeply what Master Muhin had meant when he tried to warn him that removing the trigger would disrupt his desire to protect. He shuddered at the thought of losing this protective instinct, along with all his other natural impulses, and decided that living with Zirellia's trigger in his head was the lesser of two evils.

In his contemplative state, he vaguely registered someone entering the room and conversing with Nadav in hushed tones before slipping him a piece of folded parchment. A glint of silver showed Oria hastily spooning something into her mouth with one hand and batting away a smirking Flauvic with the other as he attempted to feed her himself. Apparently her poor appetite was beginning to annoy their brother-in-law—a sure sign he was worried and trying to hide it.

"Thank you," murmured Nadav as the figure bowed and retreated.

"News?" asked Flauvic, returning to his seat after being assured by Oria that she would lick her plate clean.

The future duke of Savona wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin while perusing the missive and said, "Strange activity has been reported in Cataline. It's said that there has been a mass exodus of civilians away from the Norsundrian border."

"The panic has begun?" hypothesized Alec, "Perhaps they fear invasion from the North. Fleeing the Norsundrian border would be a logical move. Have the Catalians issued the order to evacuate? Have they sent in troops to defend the border?" he quizzed his cousin.

"I'm a spymaster Alec, not a crystal ball," replied Nadav with a wry smile. "All I have here is the what, not the why. We'll have to do more digging if we want to discover the cause behind the emigration." He frowned as he continued reading, his eyes finally darting up to meet Alec's when he finished. "There's something else that you should know, Papa wrote to say that a number of Gypsies from the Flacara tribe have defected and formed their own tribe. It isn't clear whether they were sent away by the Lucru Ales or whether they left against her wishes. Our people covertly escorted the defectors to the Western border for their protection since they no longer wish to remain in Remalna-city."

"To the west…which means they went into Denlieff," Alec muttered under his breath. "Nadav, could you gather more intelligence from your spies about the situation in Cataline and the Gypsy issue back home?" As an afterthought he added, "And set some people to keep tabs on this new tribe. I want to know where they're headed."

"You think they'll make a run for Norsunder?" asked Flauvic just as Nadav nodded in the affirmative.

"If they don't want to be found, maybe." Then, Alec glanced at the time-candle and pushed away from the table. "Come, we've got a meeting to attend. Oria, off to bed with you."

"I'm coming with you!" exclaimed his little sister, indignant at being so callously excluded from the night's meeting.

Alec sighed and gestured for Flauvic and Nadav to go ahead without him. "You must be tired after that exercise today," he reasoned. "And this meeting may drag into the night. I promised Mama and Papa to take care of you, and I think I've already failed on that score. Don't make me disappoint them further."

She reached up and pressed her hand to his cheek. She smiled up at him, her guileless grey eyes soft with affection. Before she gave him a good bop to the temple, those same eyes narrowing with irritation. "Don't be stupid. It's not your fault—not what Zirellia did to you, nor what I saw in your head. How many times do I have to remind you that you're not infallible? You're human like the rest of us. And you can't stop bad things from happening to me or to anyone else. You can only do your best."

"What if it isn't enough?" he asked.

"It'll have to be," replied his little sister. "And I hardly think staying up past my bedtime—a thing which ceased existing years ago, by the way—will do either of us irrevocable harm, hm?"

"You are such a brat," he chuckled.

Oria grinned impishly, pulled him into a hug, and, when Alec finally returned the embrace, murmured in his ear, "I'm not ignorant about the ways of men and women, Alec. Whether you like it or not, I've both been there and done that. I just never want to see you naked again. Ever."

Alec turned scarlet. "You saw me naked?" he asked, drawing back to look her in the eye.

"Yes. And do you really have a tattoo on your—"

"I think you know quite enough, young lady," he interrupted in a voice that brooked no discussion. "Another word and I'll carry your scrawny rear to bed whether _you_ like it or not. And just who was it you've 'been there and done that' with?"

Oria laughed, "You'll keep your secrets and I'll keep mine, thank you very much." She flung her arms around her big brother's neck for another hug, giggled when he gave her a quick squeeze and a peck on the cheek before she dashed away, calling over her shoulder, "See you at the meeting!"

As he watched her slip out of the room, a mixture of dismay and exasperation written across his features, Alec belatedly remembered to add, "Don't you even _dare_ think of getting yourself a tattoo!"

* * *

Ezra arrived at the Green Chamber early despite having taken extra care with her appearance. Her hair was neatly pulled back in a queue, her uniform was pressed and spotless, and she could actually see the reflection of her nose in her boots when she looked down. She headed towards the discreet spot she had mentally picked out from which she could observe the proceedings, when a light tap on her shoulder caused her to turn.

"You'll be sitting with the Remalnan delegation," said Keriam, indicating a designated area partially filled with people dressed in the Remalnan colors.

Ezra glanced apprehensively at where she was supposed to be seated, spotting her bunkmates in a mass of green and gold. "Is something wrong?" asked Keriam.

"Oh, no. I just thought that Ri…I shouldn't be seated with the delegation because I'm supposed to be…" _what was the term Rider had used?_ "Ah, 'loosely affiliated'! – with you lot."

Keriam's eyes narrowed at her verbal fumble and she got the impression that he was angry, though she didn't know what had caused it. She had not had an opportunity to speak with him since the previous evening, and he had not sought her out to spend time together.

"You're in our uniform," he pointed out tersely. "Even if you were seated on the Queen's throne you'd still be taken for a Remalnan." Without waiting for her response, he turned his back on her and made for where the Remalnan delegation was seated.

She flushed at his words, stung by the sarcasm he so rarely used as a weapon. More delegates were filling the room, dressed in a myriad of colors. Yet from the sea of milling men and women she immediately picked out a tall blond man dressed in the same deep green tunic she had seen him in this morning. She saw him survey the room then frown at someone in disapproval. Following his line of sight, she spotted the Princess Oria, who was seated among the delegation from the Dyaranaya Academy, grin unrepentantly at her older brother. She couldn't help the smile spreading across her face at the siblings' exchange, especially when Rider wagged a finger at his younger sister. A moment later, he looked her way. Perhaps she was being fanciful, but when his eyes met hers, she thought he smiled slightly. A few brisk strides and he closed the space between them. "Why are you just standing there?" he asked.

"I was about to follow Tha…Keriam to my seat," she hastily amended, remembering too late Thanyl's preference that they not address each other by first names while on duty.

Rider looked over at where Keriam and the other Remalnan soldiers were seated and saw the disapproval in his friend's face when he caught his eye. That was another matter he needed to address soon. He added it to his mental to-do list for dealing with later. "Come, Flauvic and Nadav are already seated. You'll sit with us because you'll be addressing the delegates later."

She followed Rider to a row of seats in front of Keriam and the other commanders, and found herself seated between Rider and Lord Nadav. The latter gave her a solemn smile as she settled in next to him. When she smiled back, he leaned in and whispered in her ear, "I've had news that some members of your grandmother's tribe have left the main Flacara tribe and left Remalna. Is this possible?"

Her surprise must have been plain on her face because he said, "Impossible?"

To which she replied, "Nearly. Gypsies believe in 'strength in numbers'. Loredana wouldn't have sent them away without just cause. Unless…" Ezra trailed off, lost in thought.

"Unless what?" prompted the young lord.

"Unless they were challenging her authority as Lucru Ales," she finished. Barreling on with her train of thought she added, "Perhaps it has to do with the Election. Loredana's reign is ending and the succession is always a competition among the tribes to have the next Lucru Ales come from their own."

"But that would only explain a fallout between the Flacara tribe and another tribe, not discontent from within," interjected Rider, startling her with his proximity as he had leaned in to listen in on their conversation. "How does the succession work?" he asked.

"Well, each _vitsa_ or clan elects a representative whom they put forth for the Election. These representatives are groomed by their respective _vitsa _leaders from a young age, usually from their teens, to undertake the responsibility of ruling as the future leader of their _vitsa_. But only one of these future _vitsa _leaders will have to honor of being the Lucru Ales. And to receive that honor they must win both their Elemental tribal elections and then the majority vote from all Gypsies capable of independent thought and choice within the _natsia_."

"Even children?" asked Lord Nadav, incredulous.

"Even children," confirmed Ezra.

"Should the young be allowed a choice since they lack experience and wisdom?" mused Rider out loud.

"Why should they be denied a choice because of a circumstance of birth?" countered Ezra. "After all, whoever is voted into the place of Lucru Ales will be the leader when the children grow up and start their own lives. Shouldn't they have a choice to say who gets to lead them as adults? The Gypsies believe that there will always be choices in life and every choice has its consequences. Even inaction or indecision is a choice in itself, with its own repercussions."

"But letting children vote in an election?" said Nadav shaking his head. "The decisions I used to make as a child usually had disastrous consequences!"

"But you've turned out no worse for wear, have you?" replied Ezra. "Even children must have some say in the matter of the election, if only to feel that they have played a part in the greater scheme of things, to feel responsible for whatever the outcome. While most will likely vote with their parents, as most children tend to lean on their parents naturally, it isn't seen as a poor choice. And they all have the option of voting against their families. It's not looked down on at all. So long as they have a reason for voting that way."

"Won't children be easily bribed? With candies and such?" asked Rider, "Wouldn't the adults around them try to influence their decision?"

"Some will try and some will succeed." She shrugged. "But taking the candy and allowing yourself to be influenced is also a choice with repercussions that may or may not come back to haunt you," replied Ezra, surprised at the pleasure she was taking in this debate, this exchange of view points without ill intent, just a desire to understand.

"What if there is no choice due to circumstance? I didn't choose to be a future duke," said Nadav.

"Ah, but that wasn't your choice to make. Your parents made that choice by having a baby," said Ezra. "And since _gadje_ law says you take the responsibilities of your parents, you get to be a future duke."

"I don't believe my aunt and uncle made that choice, either, since Nadav was an accident. Aunt Tamara never desired children," added Rider with a laugh.

"But the act itself was a choice, was it not? And he," she pointed at Nadav, "was the consequence."

Alec reached behind Ezra to clap Nadav on the back, "She does have a point, cousin," he said, laughing at Nadav's flabbergasted expression and Ezra's deadpan humor. "However, to get back to the question at hand, why a divide within the clan?"

"Well, it's only a guess," answered Ezra with a shrug, "but it may be that there may be a new successor in Loredana's clan. It wouldn't be the first time something like this has happened, a more charismatic individual winning the support of the clan and causing a division of loyalties."

"I have to ask," Nadav said, "how do you know so much about your Grandmother's people? I thought you were raised as a pirate?"

"I still have Gypsy blood," she answered. "I have enough of their features that I've been mistaken for full-blooded a time or two. I can even kindle fire in my hands."

She felt her palms tingle and easily called it up into a little dancing flame. Both men hissed at her, and Ezra quickly doused the flames with a look of bemusement.

"In these chambers, magic is forbidden," Alec explained softly. "It is for everyone's safety and to ensure that no one is being magically influenced. Even a little spell like that could be seen as an act of aggression."

"That's what I'm trying to explain," Ezra said. "I don't call it up, and I didn't use a spell. This is what it means to be Flacara. I never had to train to be able to use fire. It isn't a gift or a talent the way _gadje_ magic is. It is me the way my hair or my skin is me. It's me simply because I am Flacara Gypsy. I did have to train to control it, though, so I wouldn't burn the _Fearless_ to cinders.

"There are some Gypsies who find clan life too restraining," she continued. "It's the same as you find in every group of people—there are some that just want out, want to be different, want to be free from the life they know. And since the Gypsies and the pirates have always had a fairly close relationship for trade or for protection, those Gypsies who want to try something new often go to sea."

Ezra cast a quick smirk toward Rider. "They were actually the ones to create the Pirate's Pearl that keeps seasickness at bay because so many suffered from it."

"Fascinating," he drawled. "Remind me to thank them when I see your clan again."

She hid a snicker behind her fist before she went on. "Anyway, when I was young, Grandpa found a Flacara pirate, brought him aboard as one of the crew, and he was the one who taught me how to control the fire and a few other tricks that he'd found useful on a pirate ship—how to keep stores fresh by keeping out mildew and damp rot, how to keep out weevils and rats, that sort of thing. He also taught me about the Gypsy side of my family. Even if he couldn't stand being tied to his _vitsa_ so tightly, he still saw it as a disgrace to have even a half-breed like me know nothing of her heritage."

"A good thing he did," Nadav said. "Otherwise, we'd be totally lost in how to deal with this situation."

"What about in Djilia's case? In terms of the election, I mean," asked Alec, returning to the original topic. "As I recall, you mentioned that he was the future leader of his _vitsa_ before his father's death."

"In the case of his banishment, his _vitsa _probably wouldn't be represented at the Tribal Election since it's too late for them to groom another leader. The Flacara tribe would still have a few representatives from the various Flacara _vitsas_ from which to nominate their Lucru Ales candidate. It would be a blow to his _vitsa_ but not to the Flacara as a whole."

"Who's the future leader of your grandmother's clan?" asked Nadav.

"Dukker, the fortune teller."

"The one who tried to stab me?" Alec asked for clarification, and Ezra nodded.

Any further discussion was halted by King Rel calling the assembly to attention, and a hush settled over the crowd as the meeting commenced. Servants followed behind the Sartoran king with stacks of papers, each folded inside a long piece of stiff, reinforced canvas. As the King went to once again take his place beside Queen Yustnesveas, the servants continued around the room. To the lead representatives of each country, they gave one of the packets. When Alec was given the packet for Remalna, Ezra and Nadav leaned in to see what it contained.

Inside were land maps showing each of the countries on the continent and their coasts, sea charts Ezra's fingers itched to get a hold of, a drawing of the Brotherhood's flag, and quite a few papers which looked to list and detail Norsunder's prime players and allies.

"We left off earlier with Captain Fyn's rather pointed remarks that we were beating about the bush rather than dealing with the real issue of why we're all here," King Rel said. "And, as Her Majesty agreed, the Captain was entirely right. You have all agreed to come to this summit because your coasts are being plagued by more frequent and more vicious pirate attacks. Most of those attacks have been perpetrated by a single group of pirates. Take a look in the folders you've all been given and raise your hands if that is the flag that has been seen most often at the worst of these raids."

The rustle of paper filled the room, and one by one, hands went up as the delegates viewed the drawing of three black skeletons on a red field—the standard of the Brotherhood of the Damned—was identified.

"Good," Rel nodded when he saw they were all in agreement. "Now, we've all been hit hard these past few years, and we've all had our own ways of coping. The Remalnans," he gestured to their section of the large room, "have taken some rather unique measures. They used pirates to hunt pirates. And it turns out they've managed to find something the rest of had not been able to.

"Prince Alaraec? Would you take the floor?"

Rider stood and faced the delegation. Ezra tilted her head back to watch as he began to speak, and she tried to see him as the other nobles in the room must, as a stranger might. He was fairly tall and lean-muscled, but she could see that he was strong and quick. He was by no means unhandsome, and while her tastes usually ran to thicker-bodied, more rugged men, Ezra still found Alec pleasing with his narrow face, sharp, high cheekbones, and winged brows despite her tastes. More than pleasing, really. And Loredana had been right. He had a fine mouth that he was now using to tell the tale of how the crew of the _Fearless_ had come to work with the Remalnan navy, and how they had discovered the link between the Brotherhood and Norsunder.

The delegation broke in occasionally with questions, asking for proof or clarification. Alec gave as much detail as he could, often referring back to the packet that King Rel had had distributed, much to Ezra's surprise. Finally, Djilia, awkward and stumbling, gave his account of life aboard one the _Bone Catcher_. He spoke of his impressed service into the Brotherhood of the Damned, and of the mysterious Zirellia Ianthe.

"And how did you find out that the Brotherhood is, allegedly, in league with Norsunder?" inquired the Lamancan delegate who had earlier tried to intimidate Ezra.

"M-my captain sailed to the country," Djilia said. "He had business there with several other Brotherhood leaders. We all met in port, and one of the big navy ships came out to meet us. I thought they would arrest us, but the commander of the ship greeted my captain and the others as friends. I was one of the captain's bodyguards when he went to meet with the others aboard the navy ship—none of them went out without protection. None of them trusted the others enough to sit to dinner with them without guards at their backs. The navy commander congratulated the pirates on their success along the eastern coastline. He was pleased to hear of so many raids, especially when he heard the number of larger towns and cities that were being attacked. He said that as soon as the coast was softened up, the emperor would mount his attack."

"Excuse my rudeness," one of Catalian delegates spoke up. He was short, but trim and wiry. His black hair was pulled tightly back from his face, and a hooked, hawk-like nose dominated a swarthy face and hung over a wide, thin mouth.

Nadav leaned across Ezra and whispered to Alec, "That would be Don Matista Inzaniavarro."

"I remember you warned me about him," Alec said, leaning in as well, and Ezra found herself sandwiched between two very pretty men. She thought she really ought to be concentrating on the meeting, but with the blond and the brunette leaning in so closely, she had to forcibly repress a laugh.

"But," Don Matista continued, "how can we be sure that this man tells the truth? After all, Gypsies are generally liars."

Now that, Ezra had paid attention to, and it made her temper rise. "Funny," she interjected, "Gypsies say the same thing about your kind."

Alec made a small noise in his throat to let her know she'd misstepped at the same moment that a clamor of discord rang around the room as each of the fine _gadje_ nobles defended themselves. In the face of the noise, Queen Yustnesveas rose, and once again the room quieted without her having to say a word.

"Thank you," she said as soon as the voices died away. Then she turned to Ezra, a smile teasing at the corners of her mouth. "This would be some of that 'ancient, diplomatic order' you touted earlier."

Ezra flushed and acknowledged the jibe with as much good humor as she could, for it truly seemed that Yustnesveas's expression invited humor—not mocking humor, but the wryness of laughing at oneself.

"However," the Queen went on, "it happens that Don Inzaniavarro has a point. Not in regards to gypsies and their truthfulness, but that this is the word of one man with no substantial proof to support it."

This time, one of they representatives from the Dyrnayra Academy stood up. "Your Majesty, we may be able to help in this."

"How so?"

"We can bring forth the memories that this man speaks of, and project them so that all may see," the mage explained. "We will be able to see what happened exactly as it happened."

The Queen looked around the room. "Are there any delegates here who dispute the impartiality of Dyranyra's representatives?"

Most shook their heads, and a few others voiced their nay's aloud. When all were again quiet, Queen Yustnesveas motioned for Djilia to be seated on a stool brought in by the servants and set in the center of the room. Then the mage came down and stood beside him.

Ezra leaned forward to watch what would happen. If this worked, and the delegates could see Djilia was telling the truth, then this could also be the way to clear his name within the _natsia_. Djilia would be an outcast no more. If this worked, and if she could persuade her grandmother to use _gadje_ magic.

One problem at a time.

The mage placed his hand on the gypsy's head and closed his eyes. He said something to Djilia in a low voice, and Djilia then closed his eyes as well. The mage gestured to the side and made a long string of symbols with his free hand as if he were using a voiceless sign language.

"For once, I wish Oria were seated here so that she could explain what's going on," Alec murmured in her ear.

Ezra hoped her shiver of awareness at his warm breath on her neck went unnoticed.

As soon as the mage made the last sign with his hand, an image began to form. It was hazy, transparent, but quickly sharpened to show a huge, towering hulk of a man with a frizzy red beard and moustache hiding his mouth. He was grinning, sitting at the head of a rowboat. In the distance a large man-of-war ship with a dozen guns on one side alone could be seen getting closer. The scene continued to pay out exactly as Djilia had said. The red-haired captain met with several others, also clearly pirates and bringing with them a handful of fierce fighters as bodyguards. They were joined by the commanding officer of the man-of-war, dressed in the uniform of the Norsundrians, and led to the officer's quarters aboard his ship for a feast. Each pirate related his conquests and plunder, and the officer listened with satisfaction.

When the scene ended and the mage let his hand drop from Djilia's head, the Gypsy opened his eyes, blinked a few times as if to clear them, and rubbed both hands over his face looking for all the world like a man who'd just been woken from sleep.

"Will this be proof enough for Your Majesties?" the Dyranyran mage asked the King and Queen.

When they nodded, he bowed low and returned to his seat.

"We thank you for your testimonial and for allowing us the opportunity to verify your words," Queen Yustnesveas said to Djilia. "You may return to your seat. I believe we are all agreed to take this as evidence that the Brotherhod of the Damned is indeed working with Norsunder in an attempt to weaken our defenses. The question for this summit now becomes, what will we do about it?"

* * *

Translations:

Vitsa – clan

Natsia – Nation

Gadje—non-Gypsy

* * *

A/N: Finally, an update before the Christmas holidays! We hope that this chapter serves as a pretty, little, Christmas gift. Thanks to all you readers for showing your support by reading and/or reviewing, and a special thank you to those of you (you know who you are!) who drop us emails reminding us to update. Please show us a little Christmas cheer by writing us a review (no matter how short!) and have yourself a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Thanks!


	20. Diplomacy

**Chapter 20**

**Diplomacy**

A week before, Russav, Duke of Savona had received word from his children that they had arrived safely in Eidervean. He'd been relieved at the time, and hopeful that soon they would have enough information to begin sorting through the pirate concern. He felt his stiffening joints protest as he brisk walked down the endless corridor that led to the royal suites. Clutched in his hand was a hastily scrawled note, wrinkled from days of hard travel. Nodding his thanks at the guards who opened the doors to the King and Queen's reception room, he strode in and headed for Danric's study, batting aside the tapestry without so much as a courtesy tap.

His sudden entrance caused Meliara to look up from whatever she was doing while seated on a cushion behind Danric's desk. The smell of listerblossom tea emanated from the pot and half-empty teacup that sat on the antique redwood desk littered with paperwork. He opened his mouth to ask, "Where's Danric?" but she halted him with a finger to her lips. Russav raised a brow in question when Mel brought her hand down into her lap. He took two steps forward and cocked his head to the side, a smirk appearing on his face when he saw Danric's head cradled in his wife's lap as she massaged his temples.

"I hate to interrupt…" he whispered, just loudly enough for Mel to hear.

"You already have, Russav," interjected Danric, his eyes still closed in relaxation. "Don't you ever knock?"

"I didn't have the time, Danric," he said, moving to the table. "And much as I hate to barge in on your romantic interlude, we've got work to do." He knelt on a cushion before the royal couple and unfolded the letter, pushing it across the table as the King maneuvered himself upright.

"What is it?" asked Mel, peering at the nearly illegible scrawl of Kraige, a spy in his network.

"Word that the gypsies who left the Lucru Ales' tribe have returned – from Cataline," replied Russav.

"You think this has something to do with the Catalians fleeing the Norsundrian border?" asked Danric.

"I know it does." Unrolling a map, he traced the Gypsies migration with his finger. "We covertly escorted them into Denlieff but my spies followed them across Denlieff and kept watch to make sure they entered Cataline. There were some worries on my end that they might make a dash for Norsunder. I deduce that they were headed for the mountainous region further west of Cataline."

"Then why did they turn back?" asked Mel, reading the note till she found the answer she was looking for. "You think they were attacked by the Catalians?"

"From the looks of it, yes. However, I have yet to descry a motive. My spies could only tell me that the number of Gypsies who returned from Cataline were far fewer than the number who entered it. And those who returned were not without injury."

Mel sat back on her heels, frowning and shaking her head.

"Perhaps they met with some trouble along the way and were separated from the main group," said Danric, "Or more likely there was a disagreement and subsequent fallout among the Gypsies themselves. Surely where dissent causes factions to split up, there will be further confrontations and more disintegration within the group Where are the Gypsies who have returned?"

"Back with the Lucru Ales and her clan down by our southern coast. They've met up with another clan of Gypsies there. The Remalnans are wary, but so far there's been no renewed violence. I took the liberty of setting troops to guard them as well as more of my people to watch them, but that camp's now sealed tighter than a miser's purse," answered Russav, roughly running a hand through his hair.

"Good, keep them on watch." He turned to give Meliara a wry smile. "Perhaps we'll have to go on a state visit and pay the Lucru Ales our respects."

A discreet knock caused all three nobles to look towards the doorway. "What is it, Kervan?" asked the King as his chamberlain lifted the tapestry and entered the room.

A brief bow and Kervan replied, "Your Majesty, there was a Gypsy at the gates. He wanted you to have this."

Meliara beckoned the man closer and held out her hand to accept the sealed letter first. As soon as she touched it, her brows rose, and she exclaimed, "There are traces of elemental magic on this! Probably as a security measure." Glancing at the blob of wax pressed with a seal—a knot pattern with a stylized emblem of fire in the center that the Queen recognized from the Flacara clan's wagons and tents—she said, "It seems that we may have been summoned to call upon the Lucru Ales, my dear."

"What does it say?" asked the Duke of Savona impatiently.

Mel broke the seal with a flick of her finger and began to read. "Loredana has information for us but she wants Ezra to be present as a mediator." She looked up at both the men, "There's no bargaining with her you know. It's Ezra or no information."

"You do realize that it'll take us at least two weeks to recall her back from Sartor right? Two weeks we can ill afford to waste in idleness," said Vidanric with a sigh, "This is blackmail."

"Don't act the saint, Danric," retorted Russav, "It's not as if you don't pull that card out of your sleeve one time or another."

"We prefer to call it diplomacy," said Mel with a falsely innocent smile. "Besides, I believe we may have a bargaining chip of our own." She paused to retrieve a letter from her message case. "I received a letter from Oria last night about Alec's trigger." At her husband's enquiring expression she said, "Oria wasn't able to remove it, I'm afraid. Both she and her professor felt that removing it would cause Alec serious harm, so unfortunately it stays in his head for now. But Ezra did approach Oria yesterday after the summit meeting to ask about the memory magic they had employed to verify the gypsy Djilia's claims against the Brotherhood of the Damned. Ezra had wanted to know whether Oria or her professor could duplicate it for Loredana in order to exonerate Djilia in the murder he's accused of committing."

"That may be bait for Djilia to continue cooperating, but would Loredana take it in order to have him back in the clan?" Danric asked.

Mel shrugged. "We'll cross that bridge if we come to it. For now, let us convince her to speak to us in Ezra's absence and propose the use of Memory Magic to prove Djilia's innocence or to find the true perpetrator."

When Danric paused to consider his wife's words, she added in an exasperated tone, "We have to at least try!"

Russav ran a hand through his sable hair and said, "I'll have to side Mel on this one," as he pushed a pen and a blank parchment towards the King. "Come, request that you visit at the earliest convenience and mention that we have found a way to prove Djilia's innocence."

Danric gave an uncharacteristic snort of disbelief as he put pen to paper. "Should I be surprised that you're taking Mel's side yet again? The two of you have been ganging up on me since the day of our wedding!"

"But only with the kingdom's best interests at heart, my dear," said Mel with false sweetness. "Besides, you're cautious enough for all of us; and far too cautious when it comes time to throw caution to the wind."

A sudden burst of flames as the missive self-destructed caused them all to jump in surprise. "Ah," Mel said. "That would be the magic protecting it, then. Rather ingenious, actually. I wonder how she did it."

"You can puzzle it out later, Mel," Danric said, "For now, we need to prepare for our trip down South"

"And I'll see that this gets delivered," said Russav, picking up the folded missive stamped with the Royal Seal.

* * *

Ezra met Keriam in the practice courts a week after their arrival in the Sartoran capitol. She actually had to send him a written message asking him to meet her since they had barely spoken to one another since the first day of the Summit. It hurt and galled her no little amount, but strangely, Ezra realized she wasn't sad. Oh, she was angry, yes. She was annoyed and wounded. But she wasn't sad.

And if that wasn't a revelation, nothing was.

She did not love Keriam. She liked him. But it wasn't enough.

And it was time to end things properly.

She found him practicing sword drills dressed in loose, black trousers with a gray shirt tucked into the waist and sturdy blackweave boots. His dark brown hair was tied back from his face. Even now, Ezra had to admit that he was handsome. But it didn't move her. She wondered if it ever had.

"Thanyl?" she called when his pattern allowed for a moment to pause.

He turned his face to her, the twitch of his mustache betraying the tightening of his mouth. But still, ever the gentleman, he saluted her with his sword before he sheathed it and stepped toward her.

"Ezra," he greeted her in turn. "You said you wanted to talk."

"Yes," she nodded. "I was hoping we could go somewhere a bit more private, though."

There were enough soldiers in the room that she knew they would never be able to find a quiet place to talk in the practice court. Her eyes briefly caught on those of Sorlee and Tanna, her current bunkmates, as they glared at her from the fencing ring.

Keriam followed her gaze and nodded. "There's an alcove with a window seat overlooking the courtyard just down the hall. Shall we?" he motioned toward the door.

Ezra nodded and let him lead her out. As soon as they'd reached the alcove, she took a deep breath. "Thanyl…this…this clearly isn't working between us. You're mad at me all the time and I honestly don't know why. I mean, yes, all right, some of the time I know why." She huffed and started pacing. "You don't approve of how affectionate I am in public. You don't like me consorting with the royals—though they often give me little choice in the matter! You don't like that I say what I think**,** when I think it. And you don't like that I'm friends with Lolo**…**though I don't understand why."

She stopped and turned to him, her eyes pinched and questioning. "But there are other times…I don't know what I've done to upset you. You turn cold on me. Or become distant and polite. And I don't understand."

"Ezra, you're unpredictable," he said with a sigh. "I understood your charisma and your humor when we were on the Valiant together. I always believed, however, that you could learn to restrain your impetuousness. You could become part of a team, part of a military unit. I…." He shook his head and sat on the window seat. "I thought you could settle down. I thought perhaps _I_ could settle you down. We could have made such a formidable team. But you're right. I'm not comfortable with showing as much affection in public as you are. I'm a military man first. The whole company has to come before the individual. If loyalties are divided by romance then who knows how people may react in battle. In those situations, we need a cohesive unit."

"Even when you're on your own personal time?" Ezra demanded, hands on hips.

"What part of this mission made you think there was any 'personal time'?" Keriam fired back, glaring up at her.

"The Summit isn't a holiday, I know that," she snapped, "but surely eating breakfast or unpacking our rolls for the night could be considered leisure time."

"You're not on a pirate ship any more, Ezra. Your duties don't end just because there's no fighting going on."

"Is that what you think we did? You think my grandfather became one of the longest-lived pirates in the last century by letting his crew laze about when there was no battle? Do you think we were one of the most successful crews on the seas because we were lazy? Let me tell you something, I've been working my shift in the ropes and on deck since I was eight years old. Every man aboard had his duties and did them without being told twice. And those who didn't were flogged, ducked, or dismissed—and for pirates, 'dismissed' means 'marooned.' I know how to do my duty."

"You don't show it here," he said. "You think that you can go wherever you like when you ride instead of staying in formation. What would have happened if we'd been attacked on the road and you weren't in your place? That was a gap in the formation and all of those soldiers who were around you would have been vulnerable because you were not where you were supposed to be to help them and guard their backs." Keriam stood and leaned over her. "But then, since you're only 'loosely affiliated' with the country and company that gave you an apparently inconsequential legitimate captaincy, perhaps that doesn't bother you."

Ezra opened her mouth to retort and realized she had nothing to respond with. She needn't have worried, though. Keriam wasn't finished. He took another step toward her and tilted his head in mock-curiosity.

"And one more thing, just to set the record straight. How many times have you been with Alec behind my back?"

"What do you mean by 'been with'?" she asked, crossing her arms even as guilt tightened her stomach. "How many times have I been in his company? Ho—"

"Are you sleeping with him?"

Ezra opened her mouth and honestly couldn't think of a thing to say for a moment.

"Well, Ezra? Everyone seems to know more about your relationship with my friend than I do, so please. Enlighten me. Have you been dallying with the Prince behind my back?"

"No," she said quietly, stepping away. "I haven't slept with him. I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't pledge myself to someone and then two-about with another person. I wouldn't."

"Then the kisses? The dress? The near-constant flirting?" It was his turn to shake his head and step back. "You must think I'm either blind or stupid."

"There's nothing…" she tried to assure him, but memories of those kisses with Alec forced her to stop. She was lying, and she knew it.

When Ezra opened her mouth again, she was quieter. "Yes, all right. There have been kisses. The first on the beach of Mardgar was nothing. The second when we left for the vineyard was a salutation. Then when we were arguing about his handkerchief…that was…a mistake, but all this was before we were together, so they shouldn't count." She took a deep breath and let it out. "The last time, though, was at the Marquise Avalnae's ball. I didn't start it but I didn't stop him, either. I'm not sure about the so-called constant flirting…but I can see how a lot of my behavior with Rider could be seen that way."

And maybe it was, she realized. Alec certainly made her feel more than Keriam ever did. Maybe she had been responding to that all this time. She could at least admit that she was attracted to the Prince. And he was kind and funny, though she never would have expected him to be. And he took her seriously and let her help him. And his kisses…oh, his kisses. Like sinking into a warm bath and being catapulted into the air at the same time.

She was a horrible person for wanting those kisses more than she wanted the man before her.

"I'm sorry, Thanyl."

He nodded. "I believe this was a mistake from the beginning," he admitted. "I think we both had different ideas about where this was going and what we wanted."

"I think you're right," Ezra admitted. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I never intended…."

She'd never intended to treat him the way Willem had treated her.

"Are you in love with him?" he asked.

Ezra stared at him in surprise, her breath catching in her throat. "I, uh, I...no. No, I don't think….I mean…."

"Just remember, he's a Prince. Crown prince, at that. He can't marry just anyone."

"Marry?"

"You could dally together for a while, but the war is coming. And provided he survives, his next act must be to marry and produce an heir." Keriam smiled grimly. "I don't say this to offend you or to warn you off him. I know it would be useless. I only say this to warn you not to get your hopes up. Many women in your position would be expecting a crown."

"I don't want a damned bloody crown!" Ezra bellowed. "Is that the kind of person you take me for?"

And with that, she spun away and left Keriam to sulk.

* * *

Alec found her two bells later sitting in the large mess hall with several Colendrian soldiers. He carried a missive from his parents in his breast pocket. She looked away from the person she was conversing with as he neared and he noticed her eyes widen a fraction in surprise. "Captain Fyn, a word?" he asked, gesturing that they should talk privately some distance away.

She ducked her head in agreement, an embarrassed gesture so unlike her that he wondered at its origin. He found no further clues from studying her outward appearance save for the faint flush of pink on her cheeks. "You'll have to return to Remalna with Nadav," he said without preamble when she was close. "My parents have received news from Loredana that all is not as it seems with Norsunder. It seems that they may have invaded Cataline; though the Catalian delegation still seems oblivious to this fact."

"What has this got to do with my grandmother and the Gypsies?" asked Ezra, a frown furrowing her brow.

Alec dropped his voice to the softest murmur, then after placing a conspirational hand on her shoulder, pulled her close to whisper in her ear. "It seems that the Gypsies have found a way to defeat Zirellia's magic."

Ezra inhaled sharply, an instinctive reaction to his careless intimacy and the newly discovered awareness of her attraction to him. Almost immediately, though, her brain registered the meaning behind his words and she pulled back to look him dead in the eyes after a quick darting glance at those kissable lips. "Are you sure?" she asked, licking her lips in nervous anticipation.

"If the Gypsies are not playing us for fools, yes." He dropped his hand from her shoulder and ran it through his hair. She barely had time to mourn the loss of its reassuring weight when he grasped her by the elbow. "My parents have decided to believe them for now as Loredana has offered the Gypsies' help in defeating Norsunder, but my parents were hoping that you could find out more while escorting them back here."

"The last stand will be here in Eidervaen?" she asked.

"Should all else fail. We hope to stop their advance at the borders." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as if to steady his nerves, then said, "You should get packing. The Landises are readying their fastest ships for your journey."

* * *

A/N: Apologies for the super duper late update! Carly and I have been caught up with work and life in general. Reality bites! In any case, just in case anyone out there is wondering...we're still working on this. Slowly but surely :) Pls leave a review! Thanks!


	21. Apology: Are you still there?

Hi Guys,

I can't believe it's been more than a year since we last updated! :S Kinda feels like so much in my life has changed since the last update. I believe I speak for Ereshkigalgirl when I say that we both feel really bad for not updating in so long. Even that's an understatement. I've received the odd review from time to time begging us to update but somehow life and work keeps getting in the way.

I'm currently in London pursuing my Masters and am studying hard for my final round of exams. The sights and sounds of Europe have proven quite inspirational and I'm sure we will be able to update soon! Despite a year having gone by without an update, I can sincerely say that I hate leaving Alec and Ezra's story incomplete.

So, if anyone's still following the adventures of Ezra and Co. please drop us a review so that we get a gauge of how many loyal readers we still have to satisfy ;) and I promise we'll do our best to get a few chapters up after my exams.

Love,

FelSong


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